


The Most Hallowed Alliance

by Emachinescat



Series: Merlin's Beard! [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Crossover, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Season/Series 03, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Most Deadly Alliance. Three years have passed in Camelot, and Morgana's loyalties have been compromised. At Hogwarts, the final battle against Voldemort and the search for the horcruxes is at its peak. Summoned to the future by a desperate band of students led by Neville Longbottom, Arthur and Merlin must fight alongside Harry to secure the Deathly Hallows and defeat Voldemort, because, like last time, the only way they're going to win this is together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Dreams of a Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This is a work-in-progress, so chapters will be posted as they are written.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

_She is standing in an empty room, the stone walls overbearing, looming over her. There is darkness everywhere – swirling maddeningly around her, creeping into her eyes, seeping into her soul. She drinks it in because the darkness, it gives her power. Power over those who have betrayed her, who have turned their backs on her, lied to her, tried to_ kill _her…_

 _She does not understand the darkness, but a voice speaks from within it. It is high, menacing, deadly. She relishes the shivers it sends down her spine. This voice, the being that it emanates from, and all related to it_ are _the darkness. "The sssstone…"_

_She looks around and thinks she sees two red pinpricks in the midst of the blackness. Eyes. They seem vaguely familiar and she thinks that once she might have been afraid of them. Now, she sees mystery, intrigue, the allure of the unknown and the yearning to learn more._

_She speaks, and when she does her voice is calm and clear, betraying the excitement bubbling inside of her. "A stone?"_

" _THE sssstone…" There is a lingering pause, leaving her wanting, needing more… "I can ssshhow you…"_

_A pale white hand emerges from the mist, fingernails long and perfectly manicured. She swallows and something taps on the edge of her consciousness. A flash of color leaps through her mind – the fiery orange of a flaming feather, and with that orange, two sad green eyes, disappointed. For some reason, those eyes make her feel like an insolent child._

_She banishes the feather from her mind but those achingly familiar green orbs linger, finally disappearing as she takes the deathly pale hand…_

Morgana shifted in her sleep, her eyes wandering rapidly beneath closed eyelids as she dreamt.

…  _She sees her father. Not the man who is actually her father, the man who would rather protect his reputation than claim his own daughter, but the man she grew up believing is her father. She can't believe that he's here; he's returned from the battle! But…_

_She is confused. He is dead – she muffles a sob – so how is he here, with her?_

_His eyes are full of warmth and he wraps his loving arms around her. She nestles closer and he presses his lips against her black hair. "Morgana…" The sound of her name coming from his mouth is the most beautiful thing she has ever heard._

_And then, he is gone. As suddenly as he appeared beside her, she is hugging air, no one in her arms. She falls to her knees, sobbing. Where did he go?_ Where did he GO?

_The high voice spoke again, enticing her to rise and move toward the source of the sound, except the sound is coming from every direction. "He is not living, so he cannot remain in this world."_

_She is angry. She screams at the disembodied voice. "Why are you doing this? What purpose did re-opening my wounds serve?"_

" _He can return to you, Morgana. There is only one way… The sssstone…"_

Morgana's fist clenched beneath her sheets and silent tears slid down her sleeping face.

_She is back in the empty room again, except this time, a little ruby stone lies at her feet. She picks it up, turns it over three times, and suddenly, he is there again! She runs to him, blubbering something about how she loves her father, forgetting about the stone and letting it fall from her fingers. When it hits the floor, both the black stone and her father melt away._

_Her eyes glow gold. Power lines every word. "The stone…"_

_The red eyes return and they hold a triumphant glow. "Yessss…. The sssstone…."_

Morgana sat up, her chest heaving as she gulped in breath after breath of precious air. She felt like she had been underwater, drowning, and now it seemed that she just could not get enough air into her starving lungs.

Once she had caught her breath, she shivered, pulling her luxurious blankets close. She could feel tears streaming down her face and did not make any move to wipe them away. That dream…

She glanced down at her wrist to see that the intricate, beautiful healing bracelet given to her by her recently discovered half-sister, Morgause, was still latched onto her thin wrist. Morgause had once told her that sometimes a dream was so strong, so important, that even the powerful magic of a healing bracelet could not stop it. This was one of those times.

But this dream, it was so different than others she had experienced. Normally, when she had a vision, it would come across as more of a nightmare, showing her ominous glimpses of things yet to come. This hadn't been like that – the disembodied voice, the strange stone, her father… it couldn't be something that would happen, because, as the voice had so clearly told her, her father was dead. Nothing could bring him back… right?

But…

_The stone._

Her mind's eye found the image of the ruby stone once more, gleaming crimson. The pale-fingered man had told her that only through the stone could she find her father again. She shook her head, tears drying on her face. That wasn't possible. No magic, no matter how strong, could bring the dead back to life. That was one of the first things she had learned from Morgause. Not even the legendary, prophesied  _Emrys_  could do such a thing. And even if the dead could be brought back, the balance of life would  _have_  to be restored. For there to be a life, there would have to be a death. While Morgana would willingly give over Uther, Merlin, even Arthur in the place of Gorlois, she knew that the magic would choose, not her. Seeing as how it was impossible to bring back the dead in the first place, it was a moot point anyway.

This strange man in her dream, with a voice like nails on a stone, high pitched and serpentine, had said that The Stone could bring her father back. Suddenly desperate to know more, Morgana all but leaped from bed, bare feet slapping the cold stone floor beneath her. She strode to her vanity, taking a small jewelry box she had received as a gift from her sister a few months back, a box that could allow her to let Morgause know she wanted to meet. Opening the box, Morgana closed her eyes and incanted the spell Morgause had taught her,  _"Siarad â Morgause, gyfarfod â mi ar unwaith!"_

The box glowed red and a small, satisfied smirk appeared on Morgana's lips as she was able to complete the charm the first time. She knew that a wave of magic would encompass her sister instantly, telling her to wait at the usual spot in the Darkling Woods. Morgana quickly dressed, donned a dark green cloak, and slipped out of her chambers – there was much to discuss.

As she snuck through the corridors and out of the castle to the rendezvous point where she knew the only family she had would be waiting, those green eyes that had intercepted her dream snuck their way into her mind. Her heart leapt and her stomach clenched and she forced herself not to think about  _him_.

And yet, even with all her best efforts to relieve her thoughts of him, Harry Potter's emerald green eyes followed her all the way to the Darkling Woods.

* * *

Merlin hadn't been able to sleep. He'd been on edge all evening, not even sure why. He'd managed to drop Arthur's dinner, forgetting about his magic for a split second, and wound up spilling it all over the freshly polished floor. Arthur, none-too-happy about this development, called Merlin an idiot and mumbled something questioning the point of being a warlock if you can't even prevent a mess. Merlin had called Arthur a prat, Arthur had ordered him to leave and come back with food that had  _not_  touched the floor, and they had parted ways, both irritated and neither sure what was causing them to feel this way.

Now Merlin tried to sleep, tossing and turning in his small bed. His mind was whirling. Every time he would fall asleep, strange dreams would haunt him. Not the premonition type that befell Morgana, of course – but dreams of the past, of old friends, the future, the past. He was seeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione in his dreams much more recently. He even saw the Hogwarts Potions master, Severus Snape, a few times, and that was  _not_ someone he was eager to meet again.

Last night, he'd seen Voldemort. Tonight, the one time he'd fallen asleep, Voldemort was fixated on something, searching desperately, caressing a black stone before it melted away. Voldemort had turned his eyes and hissed menacingly, "Not even  _you_  can stop me…"

Evil was stirring, and if past experience had anything to say about it, it wouldn't be long before he was at the center of it.


	2. A Late Night Visit

Morgana had told no one the truth about Harry Potter. As a matter of fact, she rarely spoke about him at all. In the first few weeks after he had gone back to his own time, to this wonderful magical school that she follow him to, she had kept to herself, clinging to his memory. Harry Potter, the mysterious stranger that had stepped out of his own time and into hers, making her life shift into something she never could have dreamed. She had read and re-read his goodbye letter as if just reading words he penned with his own hand would somehow bring him back.

The phoenix feather that he had sent her from Hogwarts wasn't with the letter, which she had burned last year. She had told herself initially that it was for the reasons Harry had asked her to get rid of it in the first place – it was too dangerous to keep around, considering the mention of her magic contained within the words. As the last visible word – ironically, it was  _Love,_ – was caught up in the embers, blackened, and curled in on itself, she finally allowed herself to think the truth. She was burning the letter because she was  _angry_. She was furious that he had told her about their respective powers and talked of such wonderful places and times, where those who had magic could practice and live with their own kind, in secret but in peace, with a thriving society – he had told her this, and then left her stranded in her own life.

She couldn't get rid of the feather, though. It was precious – priceless, probably, considering how rare fire-birds were reported to be – and beautiful, and even though her heart had slowly grown bitter and she had begun to hate the memories of the boy she had fallen in love with, she couldn't let it go. It reminded her of the parts of Harry's visit that didn't leave a hole in her heart – their long talks about magic, their pasts, their futures, and the one or two kisses that had passed between their lips.

She didn't hate Harry. A part of her actually understood why he had to leave and why it wouldn't have been a good idea for her to accompany her. This knowledge, however, didn't alleviate the hurt when she looked at the shambles that her once elegant and simple life had become. He had left her with a sliver of hope, a preachy message about good and evil, and a simple I-love-you that had, at the time, seemed to have been more than enough to keep her going.

Harry had told her that she had magic, something she had already suspected but needed to hear someone say aloud. He had showed her his powers, assuring her that she was not alone, but when he left, where did that leave her? She watched as Uther killed her kind mercilessly, had been forced to stand by his side as he burned magic-users at the stake. She was forced to see through a magician's eyes the horrors of Uther's blind hatred. Morgana had always felt that he was wrong, but now that she knew who she was – now that she knew that she, too, would be burned if Uther discovered her powers – her life had become a living hell.

Then she had met Morgause, a sorceress who hated Uther as much as Morgana herself did, and who was skilled and powerful enough to do something about it. Morgana had made the decision to ally with Morgause, and soon after was when Merlin had poisoned her.

Merlin's betrayal still burned every time she saw him or thought about him. She could still remember, three years ago, when she had called him to her chambers to warn him of a terrible nightmare about his death, a nightmare that turned out to be so much more: a vision. She recalled Arthur standing protectively over Merlin's shoulder, the panicked look in both of their eyes when Uther had nearly caught Merlin in his ward's room in the middle of the night. When the king had left, Merlin had slid out from under her bed and the three friends had shared a sigh of relief. It had been so natural to trust Merlin, but she had saved his life, and he'd tried to take hers.

A small part of her still insisted that Merlin had only done what he had to do to save Camelot but she had pushed that thought into the darkest, deepest corner of her mind, where the only time it ever ventured out was when she slept and on those rare occasions when Merlin looked at her with sadness and regret in his eyes… and sometimes those cerulean eyes turned green and sadly chastised her for ignoring the letter Harry had sent her, the warnings he had given…

And the silly little thought would be chased back into its hole.

Morgause had taken her away and cured her from the poison, and with the sorceress – her  _sister_  – Morgana had found her true home. She had learned more about her powers every day, and primed herself to return back to Camelot and bring it to its knees from the inside out. Still, even in the whole year she was with her sister, Morgana never uttered his name, though sometimes she would think back to the phoenix feather under a hidden bottom in her top right desk drawer… and she would cry herself to sleep.

The first thing she had done upon regaining consciousness in her old room in Camelot after being "rescued" from Morgause was to open the drawer, feel around for the hidden latch with shaking hands, and pop the false bottom to the drawer out. Underneath was the feather, still the most brilliant gold and orange and yellow, still thriving and almost a live entity in and of itself. She had held it in her lily-pale fingers for a while, marveling at how a simple bird's feather could make her remember her old life and friends so well.

Now, as Morgana strode confidently through the Darkling Woods from where she had left her horse a few hundred feet back, she forced herself not to think of the feather, the long-gone letter, or the person they were from. After all, she had seen something in her dreams and the thought of this black stone was more alluring than an old feather any day – especially if that stone really could somehow bring her father back – her  _real_  father, not the cowardly, selfish pig that had inadvertently revealed to her that he was her birth father. Discovering the truth about the king and her heritage had made her even more angry and determined to bring Uther down and had been the main motivator that kept her on her course, not to be swayed by memories of innocent kisses or disappointed green eyes.

There was a rustle in the trees ahead, breaking Morgana out of her thoughts. She strode forward, able to recognize the aura of her sister's magic anywhere. Morgause was alone, cloaked in black, and when she saw Morgana, she smiled. "Sister. You wished to see me?"

Morgana wasn't quite sure where to begin, and it wasn't merely because of the strangeness of her dream – or vision, or whatever it had been. For some reason, the thought of telling anyone about this stone, of trying to find out more and obtain it, felt like a betrayal on her part. But to whom?

Those emerald eyes and regrets from years prior began to stir in their little prison cell in the dark recesses of her mind and she almost changed her mind. Her father's face came into focus in her mind's eye and she knew, without a doubt, that she had to find this stone.

"I had a dream… and may have some information that might be of some value to our plans…"

"Go on," Morgause prompted, never one to disregard her sister's premonitions, especially if they could prove to be good for her schemes.

Morgana, feeling more confident that Harry's gaze was locked away in her deepest mental vault, smiled and told her sister everything.

Everything, that is, but Harry Potter.

* * *

"Gooood morning, Sire!"

Arthur groaned and stuffed his head under his pillow, trying unsuccessfully to block out his servant's obnoxious morning greeting. The prince had not slept much the night before as he had been woken up from a chilling dream shortly after midnight and hadn't been able to drift back to sleep until the first glimmers of light began to waft through the windows. Even then, Arthur's sleep had been light and a bit frenzied, tossing and turning beneath his blankets. Now, however, as Merlin's chipper and  _annoying_  voice rang around the room and the warmth of the morning sun cast light on the room, the prince found that the dream was slipping away from him. All he knew was the sheer terror that had been his sole companion during the dream, and even now it was waning away in the light of a new day.

Arthur brushed the creepy feeling away and gave an irritated growl when his pillow was yanked unceremoniously out from over his head. "Up and at'em!" Merlin said in a spry voice from somewhere across the room. Arthur rolled over, grabbed his other pillow, and made to lob it in the general direction of Merlin's voice. Before he could actually throw the pillow, however, he was hit in the back of the head by his own pillow – that was hovering in thin air just above his head.

"Merlin!" he growled as Merlin grinned innocently and the pillow dropped soundlessly at the foot of Arthur's bed. "I've  _told_ you to stop using that unless—"

"—unless it's an absolute emergency," Merlin recited obediently, then groaned. "You're worse than Gaius."

"Doubt that," Arthur muttered, probably remembering having a fatherly lecture directed at him at one point in his life. He quickly added, "And don't you  _dare_  go telling him I said that,  _Mer_ lin."

Merlin's face split into an impish grin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Arthur could tell by the almost eager way the servant slipped into their normal routine of banter that he was even more ready to steer the topic away from his irresponsible use of magic. "You know  _why_  we tell you not to use it like that, you idiot. Anyone could've walked in and seen you whacking me with a flying pillow. You know I'll protect you as far as I can, but if my father finds out…"

Merlin gave Arthur a serious nod, indicating that he had indeed heard and would adhere – to some degree, at least – to his master's warning. Then the goofy smile was back on as he began to make the bed and Arthur shuffled to his table to inspect the breakfast that had been brought from the kitchens. "In a way, though, it  _was_  an emergency," he mused as he plumped the pillow that had, moments before, been airborne. "After all, you _were_  about to clobber me—"

"—with a  _pillow_ —" Arthur interjected, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"—and it was self-defense. An emergency."

Arthur sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. "Bloody sorcerers," he mumbled under his breath.

Merlin just smiled, gathered Arthur's wash, and left the prince alone with his breakfast.

* * *

Merlin was in a better mood than he had been the day before. His dreams, while some of them involved a floating pair of red eyes, had been manageable last night and so he was able to act more like himself in front of Arthur, who was either annoyed to the point of throwing his servant into the stocks or worried to the point of pretending he was annoyed so he could throw his servant in the stocks. Either way, Merlin hadn't made a visit to the stocks since Arthur had found out about his magic about three years ago, but somehow Merlin knew that this probably had more to do with a lecture or two from one Hermione Granger.

Merlin smiled sadly to himself as he thought about their old friends. He didn't know how much time had passed in the future, at Hogwarts, since he had left Harry, Ron, and Hermione in Professor Dumbledore's office. He wasn't sure how time travel worked, exactly, as he'd only done it twice – once, to get to Hogwarts and then again to get back. He'd asked the Great Dragon about this shortly after he'd returned to Camelot and the creature had informed him that time was a sensitive thing. Since Harry and his friends had left from a certain point in their time stream, it stood to reason (although how anyone could  _reason_  about time travel without driving themselves mad was beyond Merlin) that they would more than likely return to their time within at least a week of their leaving. The same had applied to Merlin who had disappeared from Gaius's chambers and returned early the next night to the same place he had left.

From what Kilgharrah had told him after, Merlin learned that now that each party was back in their relative times, if they crossed into the other's world again, it could be at any time. It was hard to imagine Harry, Ron, and Hermione old, with families, perhaps, while Merlin was still young and in Camelot, doing the same thing, protecting Arthur… this time, from Morgana, no less.

Merlin's cheerful mood dimmed a bit as he remembered the look on Harry's face when he had given the letter and feather for Merlin to deliver to Morgana. He had obviously cared about Morgana very much; the look in his eyes had proved as much. Merlin wondered what Harry would say if he could see what Morgana had become.

Sighing, Merlin entered the wash room to tend to Arthur's dirty clothes, thinking that it probably didn't matter because chances were, they would never see Harry or the others again, anyway. It would be good to let Harry believe that Morgana was still the same person she had been when they had left. Just because her betrayal broke Merlin's heart didn't mean it had to break Harry's too.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur for Merlin. He went to bed exhausted, having been Arthur's training dummy for nearly an hour earlier. Intent on getting a good, long night's rest, Merlin lay down and closed his eyes…

_"Uh, hello?"_

_Merlin started as dreamless sleep was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. The blissful darkness of sleep began to shift, and in front of his eyes, a rift began to form. From the rift came the same voice, still uncertain, but determined all the same. "Um, can I come in? Please?"_

_Merlin was confused and just thinking that maybe he should stop eating Gaius's pea soup right before bed when the voice tried again. "I'm sorry – really – but I don't have much time and I can't enter your dream properly until you give me permission. And it's important, I swear."_

_"Who are you?" Merlin asked, trying to figure out if there was really someone trying to get into his dream, or if his dinner was making itself known in a brand new, creative way._

_"Please, you've got to let me in; I'll explain everything then."_

_Another voice piped in, this one a girl's. "Oh, tell him about Harry!"_

_Merlin stiffened. "You know Harry?"_

_"Yeah, and this dreamwalking spell is_ really _difficult, even if we've got all of Dumbledore's Army holding it up. If you don't let me in, in about thirty seconds, the spell's going to collapse and we won't be able to try again for another month."_

_Merlin was about to ask why they would have to wait a month to try again, but decided he'd wait until whoever it was could talk to him properly. "Er, okay," Merlin said hesitantly, "You can, um, come in, I guess."_

_"Great, thanks!"_

_There was the sound of shuffling as an arm and a leg felt their way out of the rift, followed by a head and torso, and finally, the other appendages. Merlin couldn't see much of his visitor except that he was a male, with dark hair, and was wearing a black robe that was a bit too short for him and scuffed shoes. His ears stuck out at an angle that could rival even Merlin's own and when he turned around, Merlin saw that his face was a bit gaunt, and he was covered with bruises. His expression was grim as he hurried toward Merlin._

_"Who are you?" Merlin asked, wondering if his magic would work in a dream if a need arose to defend himself. "And what's 'dreamwalking'?"_

_"You should know," the boy said. "You invented it, after all. Or will, judging by the look on your face right now. Oh, darn, forget I said anything, okay? Hermione warned me not to give anything away."_

_"Hermione?" Merlin began to wonder if maybe he really was talking to someone that had contact with his old friends through something he was going to make called dreamwalking… Well, it wasn't weirder than a lot of things that had happened to him so far. "You know her? Who are you?"_

_"You're Merlin right?" the visitor said, once again not answering Merlin's question. "I_ did _get the right dream this time, didn't I?"_

_"Erm… yeah. I'm Merlin. But what—?"_

_"Right, then. We've only got until you wake up, which, in dream time, could be anywhere from ten seconds to ten minutes. So I'll cut to the chase. My name is Neville Longbottom, I'm at Hogwarts, and I – we all – need your help."_


	3. Neville the Dream Walker

Merlin stared at his dream's intruder closely, trying to remember if Harry, Ron, or Hermione had mentioned anyone by the name of Neville during their time in Camelot. It was possible; after all, Merlin remembered clearly the night that he had stayed in their chambers with them and he and Hermione had talked into the wee morning hours. She had told him many things about the future, including tidbits about the wizarding world as well as the Muggle, but mostly, she just talked about Hogwarts. Hogwarts had seemed to Merlin like a utopian dream, a place where wizards could train and learn to control their powers freely, without fear of execution. He hadn't gotten to see much of the school at all in the brief time he had been there; mainly a glimpse of a marvelous enchanted ceiling before he lost consciousness and then, upon waking, Professor Dumbledore's office, so he hadn't got to meet many people, either. But the name Neville did sound achingly familiar…

"I think Hermione may have mentioned you, when we talked," Merlin nodded, finally recalling the girl's description of some of their many friends at school. Neville had been one of them; yes, he had been the one with the toad and a tendency to forget important things. Looking at the dream-Neville now, however, it was hard for Merlin to imagine him being an awkward teenager chasing after his wayward toad. He was still young, near the age that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been when they were in Camelot, but his eyes were older. He looked resolved, strong, and brave – a leader, not a follower; not anymore. His bruised and cut face showed that he had been through a lot of physical abuse and Merlin wondered if Hogwarts was as safe as Hermione had declared.

"She did?" Neville Longbottom looked positively delighted at this information, his face breaking into a goofy grin. "Good. Good." He stood there in the black, sleep-induced void that was Merlin's dream. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers, his black robe fluttering a few inches above his knobby ankles as he shifted awkwardly back and forth. For someone who had been desperate to get into Merlin's dream, now that he had crossed over, Neville looked nervous and quiet.

Merlin narrowed his eyes, still at a loss as to what was going on. "Um," he said as Neville made no move to talk. "You said that this is… urgent and we have seconds…?"

"Oh, well, probably close to minutes," Neville assured Merlin, his voice rushed. "I mean, we managed to gather a little extra wolfsbane, so the dreamwalking would be more potent. But yeah. It's important." He paused, then asked, almost hesitantly, "Are you… are you  _really_  Merlin. As in, you know,  _the_  Merlin?"

Merlin sighed; even after having talked with Albus Dumbledore and the Sorting Hat about his insecurities concerning his future and all that was expected of him, it was more than a little unnerving to have someone look at him with any amount of awe in their eyes, like he was something special. As of now, he hadn't done much of anything to earn the respect that future wizards held for him. All of the great things that made him legendary to future generations were still in  _his_  future, and frankly, after Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gone home and Merlin himself had returned to his daily routines, sometimes he wondered if he would  _ever_  fulfill his own future. Every time that he saw an innocent person die because of their magic as Uther stood, stone-faced, and watched, Merlin felt a little of himself die. Even though Arthur knew about his magic and had assured Merlin that when he was king, magic would be re-introduced to the land, Merlin sometimes found himself wondering if that day would ever come.

Seeing the discouraged look cross his companion's face, Neville quickly backtracked. "I mean, sorry. Of course you are. Didn't mean to—"

Merlin cut him off, looking straight into Neville's nervous eyes. "No, I'm sorry. I was… distracted. Yes, I'm Merlin, but I promise you, I'm not everything I'm apparently made out to be."

Neville grinned again, this time more at ease. "Rubbish! I grew up on the stories; I remember my mum, when I was little… she… she read them to me." Neville's voice cracked a bit but he pressed on. "And my Gran, she did too." His face brightened. "And besides, Harry told me about what you all did."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "It wasn't all me; trust me, it was mostly Harry, Ron, and Hermione; I just helped… speaking of which," he continued before Neville could protest as his half-gaping mouth suggested he was about to do, "where are they? Why didn't they contact me themselves, if it's so urgent? Matter of fact, how do you even know about me? They weren't going to tell anyone; it might mess with time or something." Thinking of time-travel always made Merlin's head ache.

Neville's expression was grave. "A lot's happened since you were here last. You-Know-Who's gotten  _way_  stronger, he's got control of almost everything, and they're sniffing out all the muggle-borns, and then there's the Carrows in Hogwarts…" Merlin was going to ask what a  _Carrow_  was, but Neville was talking again. "I don't have time to explain; I've wasted enough already." Neville looked miserable. "The point is that we're desperate. And Harry told me at the end of last year, after everything went wrong, what had happened and about Camelot and at first I thought he was having a laugh at me, but that's not like him and it was right after the funeral, so I knew he wouldn't joke about that."

"What funeral?" Merlin asked, heart in his throat, thinking something had happened to Ron or Hermione.

Neville plowed on and to Merlin, it seemed like he was a little less substantial than he had been a few minutes before. "We're running out of time!" Neville gasped. "Listen, I'll explain everything later, when you get here."

"When I get—?"

"Harry said that if we needed you, you would help. You will help, won't you?"

"I—"

"Harry, Ron, and Hermione aren't at Hogwarts this year because Dumbledore left them with a job, something that only they can do. No one knows what it is but I, for one, and the rest of the DA want to help him in any way we can, anyway. Harry doesn't have a way to get to you because he's on the run from the Ministry of Magic and has no way to get the supplies he needs to work the spell, but what he needs, I mean, what he  _really_  needs, is  _help_. He needs you." Neville was fading rapidly as he spoke.

"Wait, I don't know where  _or_  when to go!" Merlin protested. "I don't know what's going on; I can't…"

"Please, you've got to try," Neville said. He reached out and grasped Merlin's dream-hand with his own. "I've touched you; you now have contact with the time you need to get to. You'll need to appear inside of Hogwarts; you've done it before, so you should be able to again. Try to appear in the Room of Requirement. I don't know if it's possible to apparate there, but if anyone can, it's you." All that was left now was Neville's voice. "Please, Harry needs your help…"

Silence, and the void pressed in on Merlin's dream until he had slipped back into dreamless sleep.

* * *

Arthur's blue eyes were narrowed suspiciously as he watched his servant shuffle about his room. The prince was seated at his desk, parchment in front of him and quill in hand, working through some reports for his father. Merlin was supposed to be cleaning and the most surprising thing was that he actually  _was_ cleaning – with no smart-ass remarks, no teasing, no  _talking_. The latter was what told Arthur that something was bothering his friend. With a sigh that was partly annoyed but mostly concerned, Arthur tossed his quill on the desk and fixed his glare on the back of Merlin's head.

Merlin had been dusting the fireplace – for the  _third_  time – but when Arthur's gaze drilled into his back, he sensed it and turned. His eyes were distant and Arthur knew that he had been thinking about something serious. He wondered briefly if Morgana had been up to something again, but knew that if that were the case, Merlin would almost surely tell him.

Since Arthur had discovered the truth about Merlin's powers, he had made it clear that there were to be no more big secrets between them. Arthur was trusting Merlin, lying about his magic behind Uther's back, and in return, Merlin needed to tell him of any threats to the kingdom he discovered, magical or otherwise. Arthur had suspected that something wasn't right with his father's ward when she had been rescued from Morgause, anyway, but when Merlin had hesitantly come to him after disappearing for a few days with a partially healed wound in his back, telling him that he had nearly died at the hands of Morgause, Morgana, and some  _really_  big scorpions, the truth had been made known.

Morgana had no idea that Arthur knew, or that Merlin had magic, so Arthur made himself feel a little better about the whole situation by rationalizing that they had a double advantage. He couldn't go to his father because he knew Morgana had Uther wrapped around her finger, and even if he didn't, and the truth was revealed, Morgana would have lost all chance to redeem herself. It was doubtful, but Arthur clung to it, desperately hoping that something would cause his wayward friend to return.

Merlin didn't have the 'Morgana just did something bad' face on now, though. Instead, it was a face that Arthur found that he liked even left on his servant's lean face, a look that said "Something big is going on but I have no idea what or how to deal with it and Arthur's not going to like it when I tell him so I'll just pretend everything's fine." The problem was, for someone who had to lie for his life every day, Merlin was terrible at lying. Arthur had known something major was up after Merlin had walked into his room to wake him up  _without_  chirping out a chipper, obnoxious morning greeting.

"Merlin," Arthur said seriously. "What's going on?"

Merlin smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, making the grin look stupidly out of place on his face. "Nothing. Just… thinking."

Arthur snorted. "No, your face isn't red enough for you to be thinking too hard," he teased. "You're brooding about something."

Merlin tried his best to look taken aback. "I do not… brood!" he protested. "It's fine. Everything's… great."

Arthur's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Really? Because if you're going to bore me by not being annoying and talking like usual, I'm sure we can get a little pre-training mace practice in before I train with the knights. A few rounds with the mace and your shield might loosen your tongue, eh?" His voice was light but he was serious – whatever was bothering Merlin needed to come out, the sooner, the better.

Merlin huffed, annoyed, and the fact that he didn't retort with a snappy response told Arthur that something big really  _was_  going on. "Look,  _I_ don't even to know what to make of this," he said.

"Oh, and if the great  _Merlin_  doesn't understand, there's no way simple-minded Arthur would catch on, is there?" Arthur said sarcastically, impatient.

"I didn't mean it like that," Merlin said. "But it's something to do with magic. I… had a dream last night. But it wasn't a dream, it was real… sort of."

"This is more like it; you're babbling nonsense as usual," Arthur deadpanned, voice flat.

Merlin took a deep breath. "I was contacted by a friend of Harry's from Hogwarts in my dream last night," he spurted out quickly. "He needs my help, wants me to travel to the future to help them fight Voldemort."

Arthur stared, not quite comprehending what Merlin had said. Someone from the future had gotten into Merlin's dream and wanted him to time-travel – again – to fight an enemy that wasn't even his? Didn't they know that Merlin was needed here in Camelot? Did they really expect Merlin to risk his life in a time where he didn't belong?

Almost as if he could read Arthur's thoughts, Merlin gently reminded the prince, "Harry stayed and helped me fight Nimueh."

"That was different!" Arthur protested. "You can't really be thinking about—"

Merlin was completely serious as he nodded. "Arthur, I have to try. I know it's dangerous, but I've got to do what I can to help. Harry saved our lives; I owe him that much. Besides, Voldemort nearly killed me, remember? I'm reminded every time I see my scar." Merlin had a lightning-shaped scar burned into his chest where the killing curse had hit and infected him with dark magic, similar to the one that was on Harry's forehead. "I think I owe him one, too."

Arthur saw the steely blue resolve in the servant's eyes and knew that there was no convincing him otherwise. He thought back to the tense and terrible time when he and Morgana had waited for his return, praying that he hadn't died or gotten stuck in the future forever. He remember the uncertainty, fear, and anxiety. He recalled Merlin getting struck in the chest by the fading Voldemort's curse, writhing on the floor in pain, and being transported from Gaius's chambers by his own magic to the distant future. He thought about Merlin's selfless desire to help anyone in need and how much the warlock had changed inside of Arthur, inspiring him to want to do the same.

Arthur thought about all of this and dipped his head. "Okay, you have my permission – but I'm coming, too. Who knows what kind of trouble you'll attract in a future magic-school and I'm not about to let you go without backup. Shut up, Merlin," he added as Merlin opened his mouth to protest. "I'm going, and that's final."

* * *

Morgause was in her current dwelling place, a high-topped cavern that was halfway between Camelot and Estecia, surrounded by the ancient, looming trees of the Darkling Woods. She sat in an ornate chair, a gift from her favorite pawn, Cenred, leafing through a thick-paged book of magic that she had had for many years, looking for any mention of the strange green-black stone Morgana had dreamed about, a stone that apparently had the ability to bring the dead back to life – something that was impossible after death, even if a life was given in return. No, this stone was something of immense power, something new – or so ancient it had been buried for ages. With that kind of power, Camelot would be hers.

The sorceress felt a mild stirring in the back of her mind, a presence seeking entry that she did not recognize. Her eyes flashed gold as she reacted to the foreign touch to her consciousness, not drawing back, but demanding to know who was there.

The answer was soft, hissing, like a snake.  _A friend. A friend that knows everything that you are sssearching for. I know the sssstone you ssseek, and with your help, we can have not only the sssstone but total power over death itssself…_

Morgause was usually wary about talking to strange, magical intruders in her mind – the Druids had contacted her years before in the same way, before she had alienated herself completely from their pacifistic, cowardly ways – but something about this animalistic, otherworldly voice with its wild promises of ultimate power stirred something inside of her.

With a small smirk, she closed her eyes to better communicate and replied both mentally and out loud.

"I'm listening. Now, tell me about this stone."


	4. Time Travel and a Goat

To Arthur's credit, he handled the whole time-traveling ordeal quite well. That is, he didn't get queasy or frightened, but he  _did_  get very distracted in the misty realm outside of time and there were many times that Merlin had to pull him away from some imagined temptation. Merlin had to admit, this shadowy landscape was appealing, perhaps more so than the last two times he had time-traveled. Of course, the first time he had made this journey, he had been dying from a poisoned curse-wound. And on the way back, he had been focused on getting back to Camelot as soon as possible and hadn't become very distracted. This time, however, it was a different story.

The world shifted in and out of focus, as did the ground beneath their feet. Luckily, even though the cloudy ground kept changing, the surface they stood on remained solid enough. From every direction waved memories and people that he loved, despised, and feared. They beckoned, taunted, snarled at him and he had to resist from fighting against the smoky Nimueh to his left and from running to the fading Freya at his right. He had to keep his goal in mind, and keep Arthur on track as well.

Finally, after what seemed like days (and in this timeless place, it very well could have been), sorcerer and prince came to the end of their journey. A large, ornate arch leading into darkness. Arthur swallowed and Merlin felt his own hands tremble a bit. He hoped he had gotten this right, because it would not be good if he ended up ten years early or late and let Harry and the others down. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Merlin asked Arthur, although he already knew the answer.

"Don't be such an idiot,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur chided, his jaw set in determination. "If you were afraid I'd change my mind, you shouldn't have asked me to come along."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Merlin felt his jaw drop in indignation. "What? I didn't ask you; you invited yourself, just like the royal pain you are!"

Arthur didn't respond, only smiled grimly.

Merlin had to laugh at the prince's attempt to lighten up the mood before they stepped into the unknown. "See you on the other side, my lord," the servant said seriously, and Arthur nodded, knowing that Merlin only addressed him by his proper title when the situation was solemn indeed.

"You'd better," Arthur said.

Then they both stepped into the darkness.

.

Morgause sat by the crackling fire, the dancing flames reflected in her intense brown eyes. Morgana was beside her, her long, pale fingers slowly turning the healing bracelet on her wrist. It was an unusually cold night in the Darkling Woods and Morgause had cast a spell on the fire so that no one would see it and investigate. Even if some lucky knight of Camelot did get past the charms surrounding the meeting spot, however, he would be dead before he could register what he was seeing.

"This must be very powerful magic," Morgana was saying, sounding unsure. "I don't know if we should—"

Morgause interrupted. "My dear sister, I understand your distrust of this stranger, for I share it. However, if such an artifact that he is describing  _does_  exist, imagine what we could gain from it. Camelot could be ours if we used this remarkable power to raise legions of the dead from their graves; those who are already dead cannot be killed again." She didn't mention her undead army's defeat earlier in the year, simply because she liked to pretend that it had never happened. Her voice softened as she placed a slender hand on her sister's shoulder. "And Morgana, you could bring anyone back. Your father."

Morgana's eyes were glistening in the firelight. "I know. It's just…"

For some reason, the black-haired woman seemed less confident than usual, which troubled Morgause. "Morgana, is there something else that is bothering you? Something you have not told me?"

Morgana shook her head and answered far too quickly, as if desperate to change the subject. "No, I'm fine, Sister. I promise."

Morgause raised an eyebrow but decided to let it slide for now. "I am not suggesting that we trust this entity that has appeared to us, Morgana, but this is a rare opportunity to see if something like this really exists. This… Riddle, as he calls himself, cannot know just who he is dealing with. He will not double-cross us, and if he does… he  _will_  die."

* * *

The room that they ended up in was dark and dumpy, and there was a fat, white goat staring at them from across the room. Merlin blinked. This wasn't exactly the greeting he'd expected. He'd anticipated the possibility of a warm welcome from Neville, a hostile attack from monsters, and even dared to hope for a grateful hug from Harry, Ron, or Hermione. But this hadn't even been in his realm of ideas.

"Merlin, you are an  _idiot_ ," Arthur said.

"Ma-aa-aaa!" agreed the scruffy goat, before trotting out of the room.

"I don't understand," said Merlin, his mind reeling. Just his luck; he had probably taken them to the past instead of the future. Or to a goat farm instead of Hogwarts. Or—

His thought process was cut off as the only door was slammed open and a strong, white-haired man with light blue eyes barreled into the room. At first glance, Merlin thought he was looking at the old professor he had met at Hogwarts, Dumbledore, but he quickly decided that he was wrong. Although some of the features – namely the snowy hair and bright blue eyes – were the same, this man was clearly not Albus Dumbledore, although they were most definitely related.

Merlin sensed rather than saw Arthur reaching for his sword and subtly held up his hand as a signal to wait. It this man was connected to Dumbledore or Hogwarts, then it meant that they were on the right track. "Who are you?" Merlin asked.

The man scoffed. "Who am  _I_?" he hissed. "This is my house; shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

Merlin had to admit to himself that the man had a point. "I'm sorry, you're right," he said. "I'm…" he hesitated, then plowed forward, deciding to take a chance and trust this man. There was something about those blue eyes, even though they were not as wise or as kind as Dumbledore's. "I'm Merlin, and this is Arthur."

" _Prince_  Arthur," Arthur corrected automatically.

Merlin turned away from the newcomer momentarily to shoot a glare at his master. The man's eyes narrowed. "Merlin and Arthur?" he asked. "Like in the legends, eh? How stupid do you think I am?"

Arthur opened his mouth, but Merlin closed his eyes briefly, hiding a flash of golden light, and suddenly Arthur's voice had mysteriously disappeared, lest he say something to cause any further trouble. Although he had changed greatly for the better since his time with the Hogwarts trio, there were times when Merlin's motto for the prince really rang true: Once a prat, always a prat.

"Not at all, Sir," Merlin assured the man. "I'm sorry; I have to ask. Do you have any relation to Professor Albus Dumbledore?"

"What kind of question is that? If you're in Hogsmeade, it means you're magical, which means you've read that pesky Skeeter's book, which means you know full well who I am."

"And that would be…?" Merlin prompted.

"Abeforth Dumbledore, of course!"

The goat chose that moment to clop back into the room. "Maaaa!"

There was an awkward silence. At a loss of what to say, Merlin cleared his throat. "That's a nice goat," was all he could think of.

"Mmmm," Abeforth agreed. Sighing, he looked pointedly at his visitors, one of which was unusually silent and very annoyed. "Alright, I've told you who I am, Albus's brother. Now who are you, what are you doing here, and how the devil did you get into my home?"

Merlin tried to exchange a concerned look with Arthur but the prince was still supremely annoyed by Merlin's silencing spell and would have none of it. The warlock decided, once more, to go with the truth. "We're here because a boy named Neville Longbottom contacted me in a dream, asking for help." Beside him, Arthur snickered silently and Merlin realized that he hadn't yet told Arthur what the boy's name was. Merlin could only hope that the prince had grown up enough that he wouldn't antagonize the poor boy for his unfortunate surname. Thankfully, Arthur had grown up a lot since Merlin's arrival in Camelot and Merlin didn't think it would be a problem at all.

"Longbottom, eh?" Abeforth said thoughtfully. "I suppose there's only one way to see if you're telling the truth." He walked across the room, goat at his heels, and stopped at a painting of a little girl that neither Merlin nor Arthur had noticed upon their appearance in the room. "Go fetch him for me, yes?" he addressed the painting and just as Merlin was wondering if the man was mad, the little girl in the picture nodded, smiled, and turned around, walking off into the distance until she disappeared altogether.

Arthur tried to speak again and was pleasantly surprised that he could; he hadn't realized that Merlin had released the spell just a few seconds after he'd first cast it. "The painting… it moved."

"You act like you've never seen a wizard's picture, boy," Abeforth Dumbledore said, turning away from the frame.

"What if I haven't?" Arthur snapped defensively, apparently not liking being the oblivious one here. "Is this…  _normal_  in your world?"

"My world? You talk like you're a Mug—"

Abeforth was cut off by the approach of the little girl, but this time, she had someone else with her. Merlin stared, amazed, as the girl and – was that  _Neville_? – walked forward. When they approached the frame, it swung open and a bruised young man who looked identical to the one in Merlin's dream hopped out, beaming like Yule had come early.

"Blimey!" he said, awestruck. "I only contacted you last night! That must mean our time streams are pretty much moving at the same rate right now. This is brilliant!"

"So you know these two, do you?" Abeforth asked.

"Yes. Well… no, not exactly. Harry does, though, and they're here to help him."

"Then what are they doing here? There's no way Potter will come anywhere near Hogwarts; You-Know-Who's followers are everywhere. And how do they expect to find him if the Dark Lord's followers cannot track him down?"

"He's here because we need to prepare him – erm,  _them_  –" Neville cast a curious glance Arthur's way, "—and give any help we can, and they're going to find Harry because  _this_  is Merlin, famous wizard and advisor of the great King Arthur, and this is…?" He raised his eyebrows at Arthur, who did not look impressed.

"Arthur.  _Prince_  Arthur."

"Oh," said Neville, looking bemused and a bit embarrassed. "Fancy seeing you here, your highness."

"Indeed."

Another awkward pause, but Neville quickly ended it with a grin, saying, "Come on, you two, follow me. I can't wait for you to meet the rest of the D.A. And the sooner you get on your way to find Harry, the better. Things really aren't going well in the war. Oh, and Abeforth – promise I'll tell you more later."

Abeforth grunted and petted his goat.

"Well, come on then!" Neville prompted as he climbed into the portrait hole, beckoning for Merlin and Arthur to follow. Master and servant quickly scrambled in after him, knowing as soon as the picture-door shut behind them that there was no going back.


	5. Dumbledore's Army

"Welcome," said Neville, grinning widely, "to the Room of Requirement!" He waved his hand in a flourish as he, Merlin, and Arthur came to the end of the passage and the door swung open for them. The room was enormous, the walls lined with bunk bed after bunk bed, like a knights' barracks. Red, yellow, and blue banners hung from the ceiling, the long dining table, and the walls. A half a dozen kids were in the Room of Requirement, practicing spells, putting out small fires that happened  _because_  of the spells, reading, snacking, talking, brooding, or sleeping.

Merlin glanced at Arthur, trying to gauge his reaction to seeing so many wizards in one spot, working magic out in the open. Although Arthur had accepted Merlin's magic, and had become more open to the idea that magic wasn't all bad, he was still learning, and never had he been present for such a large group of wizards performing spells out in the open. To Arthur's credit, his left eyebrow only twitched twice, and he managed to keep his mouth shut. In fact, Merlin noted as he watched a pretty black-haired girl conjure a swath of silvery light from the tip of her wand, he almost looked in awe of what he was seeing. That was, until a skinny, brown haired boy nearly took his dueling partner's ear off with a rather nasty bolt of purple light. Arthur started and glared at Merlin as if this was his fault.

"Sorry, Ernie!" the boy said, flushing crimson. "I think I used the wrong inflection on the last part of the spell."

"I'll say!" the stout young man croaked in reply, a pudgy hand clasping his ear as if trying to reassure himself that it was, indeed, still there.

"Remember, Seamus," Neville said, grinning, it's all about intonation with that particular hex. If Hermione were here, you'd be getting an earful for sure… ooh, sorry, bad pun," he apologized, beaming at the boy named Ernie, who was still rubbing his ear. He waved Merlin and Arthur forward, both of whom were feeling quite overwhelmed. "Come on, guys, I want to introduce you to everyone." Hesitantly, Merlin walked forward, feeling the eyes of everyone in the Room of Requirement on him. Arthur followed suit, and Merlin thought distantly that this had to be a first – Arthur letting him take the lead. He guessed it probably had something to do with a school full of wizards being more in Merlin's territory. The prince was certainly out of his element, and while Merlin did feel bad to see his master and friend looking so out of place, his awkwardness made him less of a prat and easier to manage. Merlin decided that he quite liked overwhelmed Arthur.

"Everyone, listen up!" Neville called, and the room went silent. "I want to introduce to you two people who have come a very,  _very_  long way to help us – to help Harry – in the fight against You-Know-Who! Dumbeldore's Army, meet Merlin and Arthur. Merlin and Arthur… meet Dumbledore's Army!"

There was silence for several seconds until finally the boy named Seamus spoke up. "You sure you got the right people, Longbottom? This bloke doesn't even have a beard!"

Merlin flushed while Arthur chortled, obviously enjoying Merlin's discomfort. The prince took it even further by addressing Seamus, "I know, it's a bit odd that he's reached adulthood and  _still_  can't grow facial hair."

There was a bit of snickering near the back of the room, and Merlin's blush grew. How was it that even when Arthur was extremely out of place and not sure what to do, he could always make new friends by having a go at Merlin?

Deciding to ignore Arthur's ribbing for the time being (but making a mental note to watch out for any opportunity to get back at the prat), Merlin spoke up, his voice slightly shaky at first, but growing with confidence as he realized that these people were seriously interested in what he had to say. "I know we don't look like much," he began, and Arthur glared at him, implying that even if  _Merlin_  didn't look like much, the Prince of Camelot sure did! Merlin ignored him, continuing, "But we are here to help. I don't know much about your world, considering I'm from your past, but what I do know is that Harry, Ron, and Hermione are our friends. When they got taken to my time, I got to know what heroic, intelligent, and loyal people they are, and I fought with them against terrible forces.

Together, with Arthur helping a bit at the end," he winked at Arthur, who fumed, "we were able to break apart that deadly alliance and bring relative peace back to Camelot. But now I've learned that Harry needs me again, and after everything he did for me, I'm not going to turn my back on him. And I won't turn my back on you, either. I'm here to aid you in any way I can, if you'll only accept me."

There was an awed silence for a few seconds, and then one by one, the students started clapping and cheering. Before he knew it, Merlin and Arthur had been pulled into the jubilant throng of Hogwarts students, who patted them on the back, and applauded their bravery. Merlin couldn't be sure, but right before they were mobbed by the kids, he thought he detected a look of pride on Arthur's face as he regarded his servant.

Then they were swept into the crowd and Merlin found himself wondering if he had really seen it at all.

* * *

"I don't understand, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy groveled, trying to hide his trembling from his master, who sat at the head of the Malfoys' long dining table. "Why have you decided to entice the mind of this witch with the idea of the Resurrection Stone? How will this help you recover the Elder Wand?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously but he did not move from his seat. Nagini slithered around the base of the table, hissing hungrily and Lucius gulped, wondering if this time he might have gone a bit too far. The other Death Eaters at the table held their breath and listened intently; it was a question all of them had been eager to ask, but only Lucius Malfoy had been stupid enough to put it into words.

Finally, the Dark Lord spoke, his voice high-pitched and serpentine. He fingered his wand with long, white fingers but did not make any move to put it into use. "You  _dare_  to question my plan, Lucius?"

"N-n-no, m-my Lord," the Death Eater stammered, glancing at his wife for help, then across the table at Yaxley, neither of which looked interested in getting involved. He forced himself to look at his master as he spoke, though he couldn't meet the slitted pupils of those terrifying red eyes. "I was merely… w-wondering if it might be more prudent to simply  _ask_  her about the wand…?"

"I have a reason for what I do, Lucius," Voldemort hissed. "You should remember that it is not your place to question your master, lest Nagini gets an early dinner."

Sweat poured down Lucius's face as his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, gave a nervous little squeak and their son, Draco, glared stonily at the table. Lucius managed to nod and agree, "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort studied the small, terrified family in whose house he was staying. "It is  _prudent_ , I think, to make sure incentive is given, and temptation is not. If I were to offer these sisters the idea of an unbeatable wand, do you not think that they would desire it for themselves? No, the Stone is the best place to start, for Morgan LeFay wants to see her father again, and that will drive her to help me retrieve the wand… And when this is over, Lord Voldemort will make sure that she is reunited with her dear Gorlois… for eternity."

* * *

"I can't believe you're really Merlin, that's just amazing, I mean you're  _really_  Merlin, and you're real and here and, oh, can I get you anything, Sir? Butterbeer? Pumpkin juice? Neville brought us some treats from the kitchens on his last raid, Sir, and you should have it all! Oh, can I get you a seat, Merlin? Or take a picture? Yeah, how 'bout a picture? And you'll sign it, right? Right?"

Merlin blinked, utterly overwhelmed by the boy who had introduced himself as Colin Creevey about ten minutes ago, and hadn't stopped talking since. Without even giving Merlin a chance to recover, the boy brought up a strange looking box-like contraption with some sort of light and a round piece of glass on the front and pushed a button at the top, causing purple smoke to billow out and the light to flash. Merlin coughed as something whirred and a picture of him, zipped from the bottom of the machine. Merlin stared, amazed, as the little him on the paper coughed, waved his hands around his face, and essentially put up a fuss.

"What… How did you…?"

"It's a camera," Colin said proudly. "Betcha don't have anything like  _this_  in Camelot, eh,  _Merlin_?" He chuckled giddily, startstruck.

Meanwhile, Arthur had been cornered by a pretty but slightly intimidating girl with long brown hair who had introduced herself as Lavender Brown. "Wow, your arms are so… strong," she purred, placing a gentle hand on his armored arm and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. "And your chin is so… manly." She smiled. "Ron just didn't have those chiseled features, you know? You're much more… rugged. I like that."

"Well, you see," Arthur tried to explain, "Guinevere is a  _very_  wonderful woman and—"

"Oh, don't tell me you're still with  _her_!" Lavender complained. "She's nothing but trouble, trust me, she'll—"

Whatever Gwen was going to do was lost as Neville interrupted the Hogwarts students and their new friends. "Well, I know that there's a lot to say and do, but… there's no time. Merlin and Arthur, I guess I should let you know what's happened since the last time you were here and get you on your way. I know Harry, Ron, and Hermione will be thrilled to know you're here!"

* * *

"What does he want us to do?" Morgana asked Morgause. "In exchange for the Stone?"

"Nothing," Morgause mused, "which means that there is obviously  _more_ than what this mysterious caller is letting on."

"What will you do, Sister?"

Morgause smiled cunningly. "Play along," she decided. "For now. This Riddle character seems to think that he can trick us into doing his bidding, but little does he know, he is  _our_  puppet. The battle of wits is beginning, Morgana. And it will end in our favor." She smirked, then rose from her seat in her woodland hovel, and Morgana did the same. "Now, let us make a call to King Cenred… and see if he knows of any Peverell brothers in his or neighboring kingdoms. We are going to find this stone, and then we are going to find out what Riddle plots in return. And  _then_  we will use it to our advantage."

"Impressive," Morgana complimented, returning her sister's smirk. Her eyes grew watery and her smirk faded. "But my father… we will bring him back, right?"

Morgause studied her sister silently for several seconds, then nodded slightly. "I swear, Sister, if there is any way for the Stone to allow you to see your father again, we will do it. You have my word. Now, back to Camelot, for you must be sure that Arthur and his meddlesome servant do not interfere with our plans. They must know nothing of this."


	6. Dream Walking

"There's normally no Apparating or Disapparating on school grounds," said Neville after he had shooed the curious members of the DA away in order to talk to the newcomers privately near the back of the room. Colin Creevey had been lingering despite Neville's insistence that he leave, but Merlin had finally been able to convince him to go away by promising to sign Colin's picture of him later.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the unfamiliar terms. "Disappearing one place and reappearing somewhere else," Merlin supplied. "I remember Hermione telling me about that. But that shouldn't be a problem for me, should it? I mean, I just Apparated in Hogwarts, and through  _time_ , no less. I should be able to magic us out of here in no time, right?" He was simply stating the truth, but only after Arthur gave him a scorching look and muttered something about him being a hypocrite, did he realize that he may have sounded a  _smidge_ cocky with that last statement.

"I hope so," said Neville, "because if not, that's only going to add to your problems. It would be close to impossible to sneak you two out of the castle, especially since you are obviously too old to be students, are dressed like you're from, well, the middle ages, and unfamiliar. The Carrows – Death Eater teachers – are constantly patrolling the hallways, and Snape's no better."

Merlin's eyes widened. "Snape? That greasy-haired bat that was with Dumbledore when I was here last? What's he done?" Merlin glanced around as if just realizing someone was missing. "And where  _is_  Professor Dumbledore, anyway? I only spoke to him briefly before, but he didn't seem the sort of man to just sit by and let all this happen."

A great sadness came over Neville's drawn face and Merlin found himself recalling Dumbledore's words from the first – and last – time they had spoken:  _"I fear I shan't be seeing you again, Merlin, although I wouldn't be positive that your parting with Mr. Potter and his friends is forever. After all, your destinies have become so intertwined that I wouldn't be surprised if you meet again sometime in the future."_  Merlin found that his voice was shaking slightly as he asked, "He's gone, isn't he?" Neville nodded solemnly. Merlin winced. "When?"

"The end of last year," said Neville sadly. "Snape killed him."

Merlin's eyes flashed, and the fire and rage he felt at news of Snape's betrayal must have shown in his eyes, for both Neville and Arthur jumped back. A second later, though, he felt Arthur's hand rest gently on his tensed shoulder and he forced himself to calm down. He looked up at Arthur, who was doing rather well considering he had less of an idea of what was going on here than Merlin, and their eyes met briefly. The friendship and support in Arthur's eyes gave Merlin both strength and calmed him. Merlin nodded his thanks to Arthur, who stepped back but did not remove his hand from Merlin's shoulder. Neville had remained quiet through this silent but powerful display of friendship, but now he moved closer and spoke again.

"A lot has happened since you were last here, Merlin, and I honestly don't know a lot of it. I can tell you what I do know, though. Snape is now the headmaster of Hogwarts, essentially You-Know-Who's second-in-command. He and the other death eaters, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, have turned the school into a wizard-born only school. They're tormenting the students, and outside of Hogwarts, it's even worse. People are being arrested and carted off to Azkaban because they are not of pure or half blood. You-Know-Who has eyes everywhere; he is completely in control of the Ministry of Magic, of  _everything_."

"And Harry's gone to stop it, then?" Arthur asked. "But he needs our help?"

"Yeah," said Neville, "as far as I can figure. See, I don't exactly know what Harry, Ron, and Hermione are up to. No one does, not even Ron or Hermione's families. I'd reckon that the only other person besides those three that knew was Dumbledore. Harry said he has a job to do for Dumbledore, a job he was given before Dumbledore died. But he also said that he could use help – your help. Professor Dumbledore had apparently told him to try to contact you through time, Merlin, and since Harry had no time or way, we were given the task. Dumbledore left us some very interesting books on a complicated magic called Dream Walking, and it took us a while to get the hang of it. But the point is, we were able to use it to contact you in your dreams.

"I couldn't believe it at first, that Dumbledore's Army had been commissioned to contact  _the_ Merlin, who Harry had met earlier in the year. It seemed ridiculous and impossible. But Dumbledore's note in the book was clear, well, once the Ravenclaws cracked the cypher. But Dumbledore wasn't mad, at least not in that way, so I knew that we had to trust him, especially now that he's gone. There's all kinds of rumors going around now about his life and past, but I don't care what that Skeeter woman says about our headmaster. He was a good man and I'll follow him to the end, no matter what." Neville's eyes were hard and determined. "Him  _and_  Harry."

Merlin nodded. "Harry is a brave man," he agreed. "Arthur and I are glad to help him."

Arthur didn't exactly look glad at the moment, but that probably had more to do with the fact that Colin Creevey had just accidentally sent a spray of water their direction by accident, soaking Arthur's hair. Merlin gave Colin a thumbs up, deciding that the pesky kid had just gotten much better in his book. Arthur glared stonily at Merlin, who stop chortling and used a wordless spell to dry the prince. Neville looked amused but was quick to get back to business.

"Okay, so we're assuming you'll be able to Apparate out of here, Merlin. That's one thing covered. But there's still the matter of where Harry, Ron, and Hermione are. Like I said before, I have no idea where they've gone or what they're doing. So once you do get out of here, what are you going to do? How will you find them? If You-Know-Who, with all of his Death Eaters and spies and dark magic everywhere hasn't been able to track them down, I don't know how you will, even if you  _are_  Merlin."

Arthur cleared his throat, irritated at being overlooked for the umpteenth time. Neville grinned sheepishly. "And Arthur.  _Prince_  Arthur."

Merlin smirked, then quickly grew serious. "There's got to be some way for me to find them. I mean, Dumbledore wouldn't just plan for my – er,  _our_  – help without giving us some clue about what they're up to."

"Maybe he did," Arthur put in thoughtfully. Both Merlin and Neville stared at him, surprised that he was now taking an active part in the magic-centered conversation.

"What do you mean?" Neville queried.

"Well, you said he left you that book on Sleep Walking—"

"Dream Walking," Merlin and Neville corrected in unison.

"Whatever it is," Arthur huffed. "Maybe it wasn't just for the DA. Maybe he planned for Merlin to use it as well."

Merlin grinned. "Wow, Arthur, I'm impressed. That was actually… intelligent. Maybe traveling through time helped to kick your brain into use!" Arthur punched Merlin in the arm and Merlin yelped. "Future or no, you're still a prat," he decided, rubbing his sore arm.

"And you're still a weak idiot."

"Well, you're a—"

"Erm, I hate to interrupt, but… Arthur's right. That  _is_  something Dumbledore would do," Neville cut in. "I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. I'll bet that you can use Dream Walking to contact Harry and find out where they are."

"I don't know," said Merlin. "If Dream Walking works, then why hasn't You-Know-Who tried to use it to get to Harry before?"

Neville grinned. "Because, he doesn't know it exists. Didn't I tell you? The book about Dream Walking was  _written_  by Dumbledore. He created the whole theory, but kept the secret and spells hidden but to all but his most trusted friends. And even if You-Know-Who did know about it, he wouldn't be able to get past the Wall that separates the between-space and the actual dreams. You have to be invited inside, remember, and if you try to force your way through, you'll only succeed in waking the person you're trying to visit."

"Wow, he really did think of everything!" Merlin beamed. "Maybe we're off to a good start, after all. Where's the book? I'd like to be able to contact them tonight."

* * *

Morgana stood in a small clearing, the hood of her red cloak thrown back. The waning evening sun cast eerie shadows from the surrounding woods, but she did not pay them any mind. After all, she now lived in the shadows. Why should they scare her? For a small moment, a pang of deep regret came to life inside her, but she pushed it down. She was determined not to see those hurt green eyes in her mind's eye again, or hear his disappointed voice.  _What are you doing, Morgana? You promised me you'd use your powers for good._

"I am," she snapped to thin air. "Leave me alone."

Something stirred in the trees before her. Morgana took a step forward, smiling pleasantly when she saw the three Druids emerge. Two were men and the other was a woman. They all wore plain robes and had Druid symbols painted on their exposed skin. The woman, who stood between and in front of the men, bowed her head marginally. "The Lady Morgana. To what do I owe the honor?"

Morgana didn't answer right away. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me here. May I ask who I am speaking to?"

"Names are not important. What do you wish to speak to us about?"

"A man," Morgana said, grinning. "Actually,  _three_. Does the name  _Peverell_  mean anything to you?"

* * *

_Harry was dreaming about Quidditch. He wasn't playing at Hogwarts, though. Instead, he was the seeker for the Chudley Cannons. He was zipping through the air, dodging Bludgers and Beaters' bats. The rest of his team – comprised of Ron as the Keeper; Ginny, Katie, and Angelina as the Chasers; and for some strange reason, Hermione and Prince Arthur as the Beaters. Harry had just spotted the Snitch and was flying in a spectacular dive, the crowds screaming, when all of a sudden, everything turned gray._

_"Hey!" he complained to the soup-like fog that had enveloped his dream. "I was just about to win the game. Can I not have one good dream all the way through?"_

_"Sorry," said a familiar voice that Harry hadn't heard in quite some time. "Bad timing on my part. But in my defense, this is the first time I've tried Dream Walking. Can I come in?"_

_Harry gasped. "Merlin? Is that you?"_

_"Last time I checked," came Merlin's cheery voice. "Wow, I can't believe I got this right on the first try! And Arthur says I'm an idiot. Ha!"_

_"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, wondering if perhaps he shouldn't eat Bertie Botts before bed anymore. This was a weird dream, even by Harry's standards._

_"I'm here to help," said Merlin, "but I don't have much time. If you could just let me in."_

_Harry wasn't convinced. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, but for all I know, this could be some kind of trick. I've never heard of Dream Walking before. And how can you be contacting me? You're hundreds of years in the past!"_

_"Actually—"_

_"Sorry, but I can't. It's too risky, and I—" he cut off suddenly as a loud crash came from somewhere within the room where he was sleeping. He heard through the fog of sleep Kreacher's irritating mumbling and felt himself begin to wake up._

_"Wait, Harry!"_

Harry snapped awake, yelping, "Kreacher!"

The elf slunk out from under Sirius's bed, where he had apparently been rooting around for more trinkets. Harry glared at the house elf but didn't say anything other than, "Out!" Kreacher, still muttering to himself, left the room. Harry found that he wasn't too disappointed that he'd been woken up by the strange elf, though, because that last dream had been a little too real for comfort. He finally fell back asleep and didn't dream again for the rest of the night.


	7. Godric's Hollow

Merlin cursed as his mind was forcefully flung from Harry's consciousness. He rubbed his throbbing head, wishing that Neville would have warned him about the resulting headache from the Dream Walking beforehand. He had been  _so_  close. He hadn't been able to see much of anything; just gray, but that had  _definitely_  been Harry's voice. Now, he was back in the DA's headquarters, slumped in a high-backed chair, defeated, with a group of curious onlookers surrounding him. He shook his head glumly, glancing up to meet Arthur's eyes and then moving his gaze to Neville's. "Sorry," he said. "I was almost there, but he wouldn't let me in. And before I could convince him, something must have woken him up."

"That makes no sense," Arthur complained. "If he was the one who asked the DA to contact us for help, then wouldn't he be expecting something like this?"

"Not really," Neville shrugged. "Honestly, it was all a shot in the dark, really. I'm amazed that  _I_  was able to contact you at all, Merlin. Besides, even if he was expecting you to make it to the future, he might still suspect that it's a trap. You never can be too careful these days, after all, with You-Know-Who in control of everything."

"I suppose that makes sense," Arthur agreed. "But that doesn't change the fact that we've been shut out. How long will it be before we can try again?"

Neville scratched his chin. "Merlin could try it again right now if he wanted to, but we're running out of the potion," he pointed out, referring to the potion that the Walker had to drink before entering the Dream Realm. Neville had explained how he and other members of Dumbledore's Army had taken turns sneaking into the Potions supply cupboard over the course of several weeks before they had collected enough supplies to make a large batch of the potion. Neville had used quite a bit trying to figure out how to contact Merlin, and now that Merlin had taken some as well, their supply was running low.

"Well, this isn't good," Merlin declared, prompting Arthur to roll his eyes.

"Your talent for stating the obvious continues to astound me, as always," the prince said sarcastically.

Merlin frowned. "I hardly think that now is the best time to be making fun of me," he insisted. "After all, we may have just come all this way for nothing. Harry could die, and it will be all our faults!"

"No, it will be  _your_  fault," Arthur corrected prattishly. "And come on,  _Mer_ lin, it can't be  _that_  bad. I mean, there's got to be something,  _anything_  that could tell you where he's at."

Neville's eyes lit up slightly, although he still seemed to be too afraid to hope very much. "Arthur's right!" the Gryffindor said, eyes wide. "Merlin, did you hear or see anything that might tell us where Harry and the others could be? Did he say anything, or was there any background noise? We might be able to help him yet!"

Merlin thought for several moments before he remembered anything that might be useful. "I dunno," the warlock said slowly. "For the most part, it was just me trying to keep him from kicking me out. But right as he woke up, he did say something…"

"What was it?" Neville and Arthur asked in unison, both pairs of eyes wide as they looked expectantly at Merlin.

"Well," Merlin said, "he yelled something, um, something about a  _creature_ , I think…?"

Arthur's facial expression fell considerably. "A creature. Honestly,  _Mer_ lin, we might as well be right back where we started."

Merlin flushed crimson. "I'm well aware that it isn't much to go on," he conceded, "but what do you want me to do, Arthur? Make up something so that we can all feel better about this whole thing?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, and it was a testament to how miserable Merlin was feeling about their failure to find Harry that he didn't even gloat about the prince finally saying that his servant was right about something.

During their row, Neville hadn't spoken, or even paid attention at all. He had a far-off look on his face, as if he were thinking very hard about something. Suddenly, he asked, "What did he say about the creature, do you remember?"

Merlin thought, and then shrugged. "Nothing. He just said, 'Creature!' really loudly, and then I was flung out of the dream. I wonder what kind of creature he was talking about. Maybe he's fighting a griffin, or a basilisk," Merlin speculated.

"Or," Neville said, grinning once more, "he's actually talking to Kreacher."

"Why would he be talking to a griffin or a basilisk?" Merlin asked, confused.

"He wouldn't be," Neville said. "Well, he might speak to a basilisk, since he can talk to snakes, but that's irrelevant."

"He can talk to snakes?" Arthur cut in, brow furrowed. "Can all wizards talk to snakes?"

" _I_  can't talk to snakes," Merlin reminded his prince. "So obviously not all of them can."

"You talk to dragons," Arthur pointed out.

"Dragons aren't snakes, Arthur. They're lizards. Giant, winged lizards that breathe fire. Snakes are just… snakes."

"Actually, seeing as they're both reptiles, they are in the same family, but –" Neville cut himself off, shaking his head as he realized how far off topic their conversation had gone. "What am I saying?" he muttered. "I'm not talking about a  _creature_ ," he clarified. " _Kreacher_  – K-R-E-A-C-H-E-R – is a house elf."

"Isn't an elf a kind of creature?" Arthur wondered.

"That's not the point!" Neville exclaimed, determined to get through this explanation before the night was through. "Kreacher is a house elf – and Harry is his master. And there's only one place that he would be – 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius's house. He's where the Order of the Phoenix used to meet! We've got our location!" Neville was so giddy that Merlin thought he might just start floating a few inches off the ground out of happiness.

"What's a Grimmald Place?" Merlin wanted to know.

"It was headquarters for a secret organization called the Order of the Phoenix. And it was Harry's godfather's house before he died. Now it belongs to Harry, along with everything in it – including Kreacher, a creepy house elf that answers to Harry now. I had my suspicions that Harry, Ron, and Hermione might be there, but I wasn't sure."

"How do we get there?" Arthur asked.

"Well, you can disapparate out of the school with Merlin, but I don't think that you should just apparate into the house, because that might spur Harry into attacking you. There're a lot of charms around the place, too, and it would be best if you go in the front entrance, even if Merlin's strong enough to apparate into it. You've got to know it's there to even be able to see it, but since you know about it, and you're on our side, and you're  _Merlin_ , you should be fine!"

Merlin nodded, and then yawned. "D'you think that they'll go anywhere before the morning?" he asked. "Because I'm  _really_  tired. I think time travel really wore me out, and if I'm going to attempt to disapparate out of a place where it's supposed to be impossible to apparate from, I think I might need to get some rest before I try it. You know?"

Neville nodded. "You should be fine until the morning. 12 Grimmauld Place is a great hiding place, and I don't think that Harry or the others will want to leave it for good any time soon."

"Well, we finally have a plan," Arthur said, grinning, because, being a great strategist, he really liked plans.

"Now who's stating the obvious?" Merlin ribbed, cleverly turning Arthur's words on him.

Neville smiled at the banter, and then offered, "We've not got a whole lot to eat; we'll have to do a kitchen raid pretty soon, but if you want some cockroach clusters, leftover pumpkin tarts, or something like that, have at it. And feel free to sleep in any bunks you like; we've got extras. We'll try to find you some better clothes to wear while you're sleeping, too."

Arthur glanced down at his chainmail covered chest, then at Merlin and his customary trousers, too-big shirt, and neckerchief. "I can understand why you'd want Merlin to change, but I am dressed for battle," Arthur insisted. "Why should I change clothes?"

Merlin smirked at Arthur's discomfort at the idea of changing out of his armor. "We're in the future, remember? We can't exactly go marching around like we're from our time, now can we? Besides, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in Camelot, they had to wear  _our_  clothes in order to blend in. Now we're getting the full cultural experience, just like they did! Think of it as an adventure or something, if it makes you feel any better," he concluded, trying to keep the prince's morale up since he really didn't fancy the idea of having to deal with a grouchy Arthur any more than necessary.

"I won't, and it doesn't," Arthur responded firmly, "but I suppose I see your point."

"Don't worry; we'll take good care of your armor while you're gone," Neville promised. "Now come on, let's get you some snacks before you go to bed!"

Smiling broadly, the student led the guests across the room and to a table filled with sweets, the likes of which neither medieval visitor had ever seen.

* * *

Morgana stood in the center of the small village, her eyes narrowed as she gazed around at the conglomeration of houses of all sizes and designs. There didn't seem to be much of an order to the place; in fact, it was almost more of a shanty town than anything. A small, crudely carved sign at the entrance of the town read:  _Godric's Hollow_

Apparently this was a fairly new magical community just outside of Camelot's borders. Some of the people who lived here were Druids, but most of them were just magical folk that didn't want any trouble with Uther. Morgana didn't have any desire to join them in their pacifistic lifestyle, but she also had no interest in harming anyone else of magical blood. She understood the pain of having to hide away because of magic, and seeing the gloomy village struck a chord of sympathy in her heart.

There was a man tending to a small garden outside of a mid-sized house – one of the better looking abodes in the village – about ten houses down the dirt path. A small boy was playing in the yard with some fireflies that had just been conjured out of nowhere. Morgana smiled softly, wishing that she was able to practice her magic so freely. From the bags under the man's eyes, however, she could tell that these people were nowhere near free, at least not from their fears. It was well-known that Uther had chased magic-users out of the kingdom and then pursued them out of Camelot's borders. Even here, they were not entirely safe.

The man looked up as Morgana approached, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Hullo," he said, standing up from where he had been kneeling and brushing off the knees of his trousers. "Can I help you, Miss?"

"I am looking for someone," Morgana said in her kindest voice, noticing that the little boy playing in the yard was now looking at her curiously. "I was informed by the Druids that someone by the name of Peverell might live here? Do you know him?"

The man responded slowly, "Aye, there was a man named Peverell that has lived in this area. He's not always here, though; he's a bit of a wanderer. He's a nice enough lad, though I don't quite trust those brothers of his that visit on occasion."

"Do you know when he – or any of them, for that matter – might return?" Morgana asked as patiently as she could, while on the inside she was desperate to find one of the Peverell brothers.

"No, Miss. He keeps to himself. Never really talks to anyone, not even me, and I'm the leader of the village."

"Oh, are you Godric?" Morgana asked conversationally, not wanting the man to become any more suspicious because of her set determination to find out about the Peverells.

The man smiled widely for the first time since he had greeted her. "No, Miss. My name is Gregory Gryffindor. When I founded this village seven years ago, I named it not after myself, but after my newborn son, Godric Gryffindor." He nodded proudly at the little boy next to him, and Morgana nodded politely.

"How interesting. Well, if you are sure that you haven't seen Mr. Peverell, I suppose I should be going. He's an… old friend of mine, and I need to inquire about something that he possesses. If you see him, please send a message to the Lady Morgana through the Druids. It's very important that I speak with him as soon as possible."

If Gregory found it surprising that the king of Camelot's ward was visiting their village, he did not show it. Instead, he inclined his head in agreement. "I shall, my lady."

"Thank you for your time," Morgana said as she began to turn away. She was frustrated that she hadn't found Peverell yet, but she also felt hopeful now that she had found a place that he lived on occasion. "Goodbye, Gregory. And good luck in your life, Godric. You seem to be a very fine young man."

Godric giggled and went back to his fireflies, even as Morgana turned and began to leave the village.

"I  _will_  find you, Mr. Peverell… mark my words."


	8. A Blast from the Past

"We're going to have to come up with a plan, and soon. We can't just stay here. We've got to get out there and find the Horcruxes!" Harry sighed, dropping his aching head into his hands. He was sitting at the large, musty dining table in the larger, mustier dining room of Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione occupied two other seats, both of their foreheads wrinkled in respective worry.

"I know," Hermione said, "and I agree completely that we are going to have to get into the Ministry soon; we have to figure  _something_  out."

"I can't believe we were so close to one," Ron grumbled dejectedly, "and we lost it to Umbridge, of all people. Why couldn't that coward Mundungus have given it to  _anyone_  else?"

To say that the three wizards had had a difficult day would be an understatement. Not long after arriving at Grimmauld Place, the trio had discovered that Sirius's brother's initials had been "R.A.B" – the same initials that had been on the note inside the fake Horcrux that Harry and Dumbledore had found, and that Dumbledore had  _died_  for at the end of the last school term. Harry had managed to get the truth out of Kreacher about the real Horcrux, which had apparently been taken by Mundungus Fletcher a while back. He had sent the house elf to find the pitiful excuse for a human being, only to find out this morning, when Kreacher returned with Mundungus (and, oddly enough, Dobby), that the wizard scum had tried to sell it to none other than Dolores Umbridge, who had then taken it from him. The young wizards had been trying to come up with some semblance of a plan to get it back from Umbridge ever since. Four hours since Mundungus had slunk away, rightly terrified of what would happen to him if he ever so much as set foot in Grimmauld Place without permission again, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had come up with nothing.

Hermione took a deep breath and rubbed her temples slowly. "I can hardly think," she murmured, and it was a testament to how miserable they were that Ron didn't make a snarky comment in return. "I'm so tired. It's difficult to sleep in this creepy old house, especially when we're the only ones here. Well, besides Kreacher."

"Yeah, and he doesn't help much with the creepiness," Ron commented, rolling his eyes. "Only adds to it about a hundred times."

"Have you been sleeping okay, Harry?"

Harry heard the pointed tone in Hermione's voice when she asked him this, and he knew that she was thinking about all of the times that he had been given a glimpse into Voldemort's mind through his dreams. He knew that she was concerned about this occurrence, as Harry was as well, but Harry hadn't seen or heard anything from his arch-enemy's subconscious in quite a long time. When Hermione breached this topic, though, it brought to mind something else strange that had happened the night before, something that had slipped his mind due to the drama with the house-elves and Mundungus. Hermione saw the look on her friend's face and stiffened slightly. Ron leaned forward, sensing that something new was about to be divulged.

"It's You-Know-Who, isn't it?" Ron asked breathily, his eyes wide. "You're seeing into his mind again."

"Actually—" Harry started to correct his friend, but Hermione cut him off.

"Harry, you  _know_ that you can't allow him access into your mind. It's dangerous. You've  _got_  to fight it, even if you're asleep. You  _have_  to find a way."

"Well—" Harry said, but was interrupted again, this time by Ron.

"She's right, really, Harry. I mean, I know we're low on options right now, but looking into You-Know-Who's mind has got to be a last resort, mate."

"If you would just—"

Hermione had now turned her attention from Harry and was addressing Ron vehemently. "No, Ronald, You-Know-Who's mind is  _not_  an option at all, even as a last resort! You know how he's used it against us in the past! You know what the consequences were! Harry can never—"

"Well, it's not like he perfected Occlumency or anything, Hermione. It's not like he's going to have an easy time shutting him out."

"You're missing the point, Ron! It's  _dangerous_ —"

"GUYS!" Harry yelled, kneading his forehead. His head was starting to throb.

Ron's eyes widened. "Is it your scar? Hermione, You-Know-Who is making Harry's scar hurt again! You were right, he's—"

"It is  _not_  You-Know-Who!" Harry finally bellowed. "And it's  _not_  my scar!"

Hermione and Ron blinked in unison. "Oh," said Hermione. "Then what is it?"

Harry grimaced. "It's  _you two_. Your rowing is giving me a headache. And if you'd take a second to  _listen_  to me… You-Know-Who hasn't been in my dreams lately. That's what I was trying to tell you earlier. But someone else has…" Harry's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he thought about the strange dream he had had, and the old friend that had spoken to him. He wondered briefly if he should have let Merlin into his dream, whatever that entailed, but then decided that he had done the right thing. Voldemort might have somehow figured out that Merlin had survived the Killing Curse that he had sent the warlock's way upon the Dark Lord's vanishing from the past, and was trying to convince Harry that Merlin needed him.  _Or_  Merlin might have really needed him.

Pushing the troubling thoughts away for the moment, Harry opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted – yet again – but this time, by the loud ringing of a doorbell resonating through the entire house, and the subsequent screeches of Mrs. Black's portrait. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all jumped, eyes wide and faces pale at the completely unexpected sound.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron breathed, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to his pale cheeks. "Who could that be?"

"Not one of the Order," Harry said confidently. "They'd just come on in. It's somebody else. But… how'd they find us?"

"It's a Death Eater," Ron decided. "Oh, Merlin's Beard, after all this, they've found us. Quick, Hermione, we've got to Apparate somewhere else!" He grabbed hold of Hermione's hand firmly, but instead of trying to Apparate, Hermione just blushed fiercely and stared at their interlocked hands. As if just realizing what he had done, Ron let go just as abruptly and turned to ask Harry what they should do, but Harry was already halfway to the front door.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him in a whispered tone, padding down the long entrance hallway with Ron hot on her heels. Harry either didn't want to acknowledge her warning tone, or he simply couldn't hear it, which was probably the case, since Mrs. Black was still screaming like a Banshee. "Ron, shut her up!" Hermione hissed, and Ron ran to the curtain obediently, trying to cover up the wailing portrait as quickly as he could. By the time Mrs. Black had been silenced, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered in front of the door. The knock came again, this time more insistent.

"Harry, maybe we should—" Hermione began as Harry peeked through the peephole in the door to see who was there.

Harry stopped her with a laugh, turning to meet Ron's and Hermione's eyes. "You'll never guess who is at the door," he grinned, and Hermione and Ron seemed to be completely taken aback by his change of demeanor. He knew that while it was possible that Voldemort might have imitated Merlin's voice to try and get into Harry's dream, there was no way, even with all of his power, that he could create something like he was seeing on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place right now, which could only mean that his dream had been real, and that the visitors were real. Despite Hermione's and Ron's quiet protests at Harry's sudden willingness to open the door, Harry swung it open, beaming as he revealed two young men, one blonde and muscular, the other dark-haired and thin. It took a moment to realize just who was there due to the modern clothing and lack of medieval weaponry on the prince's part, but there was no mistaking who was there.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared out at Arthur and Merlin with awe and confusion on their faces. "Merlin's Beard," Ron breathed again.

"You know," Merlin said testily, rolling his blue eyes, "I'm  _really_  beginning to hate that expression."

"Merlin?" Hermione squeaked. "Arthur? Is it… is it really you?"

"Last time I checked, we were real," Merlin affirmed. "But I can pinch Arthur to prove that we're not a dream, if you'd like."

"Sorcerer or not, I  _will_  push you out in front of one of those… erm… horseless carriages!" Arthur threatened savagely, his light blue eyes straying toward the deserted road that ran in front of the house.

Harry laughed. "It's them, all right! What are you doing here?"

"Why else would we be here? We're here to help!" Merlin grinned. "But I'll explain later, once we're inside. If everything's as bad as Neville's told us, we really shouldn't be standing out here on the front step, even if it is shielded from the view of anyone who doesn't know where it is. Just in case."

"You're right, of course," Hermione nodded. "Come on in, but be quiet; trust me, you do  _not_  what to meet the 'lady' of the house."

* * *

Five minutes later, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and their two guests had settled comfortably in the main living room, which, despite the light spattering of cleaning done here and there since the arrival of the three former Hogwarts students, was rather dusty and dim. Still, it was a better place to congregate by far than the doorstep, as Merlin had pointed out.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat across from Merlin and Arthur, staring at the two young men while simultaneously acting like they weren't looking at all. Merlin and Arthur seemed to be doing the same thing, which made the whole scene that much more awkward.

It was very strange to see the two ancient Camelotians (or whatever one calls a person from ancient Camelot) dressed in modern Muggle wear. As strange as it was to fathom, though, the look actually suited them, although Arthur didn't seem like himself without his sword.

Merlin was wearing a pair of nice, crisp jeans that were just a bit too short for him, showing his knobby ankles slightly above his black socks and worn but still nice tennis shoes. He had a dark blue t-shirt and a loose grey hoodie that Hermione was pretty sure she'd seen Seamus Finnegan wearing casually on a few occasions. Other than the clothes, he looked about the same, although he looked a bit older, perhaps stronger, and his eyes had grown a little bit wiser – and sadder. His hair was no longer hugged his skull in that goofy but adorable bowl cut, but was shorter and definitely manlier. Hermione, despite the moment that she had just shared with Ron, couldn't help but feel her heartbeat increase slightly at the sudden appearance of her old friend and interest. Still, the excitement cooled a bit when she remembered the way that she had felt when Ron had grabbed her hand just a few minutes before, and then her heart beat even faster as she glanced between the two boys.

Before her heart beat so loudly that everyone in the room could hear it, or worse, it actually jumped out of her chest and out the window, Hermione averted her gaze to Arthur, who had admittedly grown even more handsome and princely – or was he a king now? He hadn't said yet – than he had before. Still, Hermione didn't think of him in that way at all, even though when they had first met a few years ago, hundreds of years in the past, he had shamelessly flirted with her. Now she noticed that while he gave her a warm smile and offered friendly affections, he did not seem interested in her romantically – which she hoped meant that he had found someone in Camelot… perhaps a sweet young serving girl named Gwen?

Arthur was wearing black slacks, grey loafers, and a red and gold sweater that, while a bit too tight, did not look shabby in the slightest; in fact, the closeness of the fabric to his well-muscled chest only served to make him look that much more attractive as it showed more muscle definition than his chainmail or loose woolen shirts in Camelot ever could. Hermione still wasn't interested, though she did find it a bit hard to look away, especially when he flashed her a friendly smile and told her how good it was to see her again.

"It's wonderful to see you as well, my lord," Hermione said out of habit.

Merlin was quick to correct her. "Obviously, we're a bit out of time here," he said, "and according to Neville, we don't need to let anyone know who we are, not that they'd believe us, he said, but it's a matter of safety. So while we're here, Arthur's not a prince. He's just – what did Neville say? – 'a normal bloke'. So just call him Arthur. Or Artie, if you wish."

"I am serious about the metal, horseless carts,  _Mer_ lin. I will let one run you over."

Merlin blanched. "Fine. Call him Arthur."

"Just so you know," Harry spoke up, grinning, "those 'metal, horseless carts' are called cars. Or automobiles."

"It's all a bit overwhelming," said Arthur rather faintly, which was a big deal for him, as he made it a point to never sound, be, or act faint. "I mean, I thought that being in a school full of magicians was staggering, but then I put on these strange clothes, and saw those 'cars', and everything is… erm… it's just a bit. Wow."

Merlin grinned. "I like it. I mean, it's loud, and kind of unsettling, but I'd love to explore more of the Muggle world someday – and I hope that someday I can see more of Hogwarts than just the Room of Requirement, a glimpse of the Great Hall, and Professor Dumbledore's office…" He trailed off, noticing how Ron, Harry, and Hermione all cast their eyes down at his words. He swallowed, not really wanting to address this particular issue, but deciding that it would be better to bring it up now rather than later. "I, erm, heard about Professor Dumbledore. Neville told me what happened. I'm sorry. He seemed like a great man."

Harry nodded distractedly, not meeting Merlin's eyes. "Yeah, I guess he was."

There was a short bout of awkward silence. Then Merlin said, "Neville said that you three need all the help that you can get. Normally, I don't think I'd be able to make such a trip with no information for just anybody, but for you three, I'll make an exception."

"You're our friends," Arthur put in helpfully, and Hermione's heart warmed at how easily he admitted this, a big change from his stoic, big-tough-prince-with-no-friends act that he had put on when they were in Camelot. "Also, Merlin's an idiot, so I knew that someone had to come along to make sure he doesn't get himself killed. I don't think Camelot can afford to lose its future court sorcerer anytime soon."

There was idle small talk for a few more minutes, and then Harry spoke up, asking the question that he had obviously been itching to bring up for a while now. Looking Merlin directly in the eyes, he asked, "How's Morgana?"

Merlin's face paled, and Hermione suddenly wished that Harry had remained quiet, for his own sake, if for nothing else. Harry could sense that something was wrong, too, but he didn't press for the moment, other than to ask, "Is she okay? She wasn't found out?"

Merlin hesitated. "No. Her magic is still a secret, and she is well. But there is a lot we have to tell you."

Seeing Harry's countenance go from cheerful to brooding in a matter of seconds, Hermione decided that they should perhaps change the subject from Morgana for the moment. If Harry was going to be grim about anything, she figured that it should be about the only thing that the five of them could actively work to change at the moment – and so she suggested softly that everyone get ready for some serious discussion. Harry agreed, but the look in his eyes said that he was going to find out more about Morgana in the very near future. Merlin nodded slightly in acknowledgement, while Arthur just scowled at the ground.

Ron spoke up, thankfully aiding Hermione in her change of subject, although said change was admittedly to a topic of even graver matter, but it was, unfortunately, more important, and Harry understood that. Hermione realized that now that he knew that Morgana was alive and well, even if there were other problems, he would be satisfied until the most important matters at hand could be resolved. "Well, everyone, I guess there's a lot of explaining to do," the ginger wizard said, grinning grimly. Hermione smiled gratefully at him for his support. "I bet a lot has happened with you two, just like with the three of us, and we can swap stories later. But now, I think Merlin's right, eh? Maybe we should actually tell you what we need help with."

Harry nodded, and Merlin and Arthur leaned in expectantly, and then Harry proceeded to ask, "Have either of you ever heard of a Horcrux?"


	9. Horcrux

"A Horcrux," Harry began, his voice low and strained, "is a type of Dark Magic, some of the - if not THE - darkest in existence. You might have some early form of it where you come from, but I could be wrong. I just know the basics, and trust me - it's more than I'd like to know." He paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to collect his thoughts.

Morbid curiosity was assaulting Arthur, and from the interested but anxious expression on Merlin's face, he had a feeling that the sorcerer felt the same.

Still, despite his eagerness to know more so that they would have some idea of what they were up against, Arthur courteously said, "Take your time. We understand that this is difficult for you.'

Harry started out of his musings, while his friends - past and present - looked I. With concern and compassion mingling on their faces. "Oh," said Harry, "that's not it, exactly. I mean, it's horrible, and I hate thinking and talking about it, but I'm trying to think of a way to explain this that will make it easier to understand."

Despite himself, Arthur felt his pride rear up marginally inside of him and he grimaced. "Because we came before you, we are primitive, is that what you're saying? We aren't idiots. I'm not, at any rate."

Merlin shot Arthur a look that was half amused, half reprimanding. "Arthur," he said softly.

Hermione was quick to speak up. "Oh no, Harry didn't mean it like that. You have to understand that Horcruxes are a very, very dark form of magic, and this kind I magic isn't one that is pleasant to speak on or hear about. It's difficult to comprehend how and why anyone would want to commit such horrible acts of magic."

"Sorry, mates," Ron agreed. "This isn't going to be a fun conversation."

"Thank you for the warning," Merlin said, "but I have encountered much since we last fought together. Magic has been used in darker ways than I had ever thought possible before. You don't have to protect us."

"We can handle it," Arthur nodded fervently. "And anyway, after our adventures today in our future, I doubt anything could shock us any more."

"All right," Harry said. "A Horcrux is the result of a person using dark magic to split his soul in two - and basically putting the piece of his soul into something else for 'safekeeping.'"

Merlin blanched, exchanging a disturbed look with Arthur. "I have a feeling that I don't want to know what one has to do to accomplish that horrible act," he said warily.

"It is a disgusting magic," Hermione said, looking sickened. "The only way to create a Horcrux - to split one's soul - is to kill someone."

"Murder," Arthur said, reviled.

"It makes sense," Merlin said, a strange fierceness in his eyes. "To kill is a terrible thing. To take a life feels like your soul is splitting, even if it is just in a war or battle, or in your own defense. But to do it intentionally, purposefully, just to do it... It comes as no surprise to me that You-Know-Who has done this successfully."

Arthur looked disturbed as well, but he managed to shake off his outward revulsion quicker than Merlin, possibly due to his familiarity with death due to his being a knight who had been required, on many occasions, to take a life in battle. Despite this, there was still a troubled look in his eyes. "So we are looking for Vo - er, You-Know-Who's," he amended as he got a dark look from Ron, "Horcrux, and destroy it? Doesn't sound too hard," the prince decided as his usual confidence (or arrogance, as Merlin insisted) set in.

At his words, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a round of looks that shifted from worried to almost sympathetic. Merlin grimaced. "It's... not going to be that easy... is it?" he asked in a resigned voice.

"You-Know-Who didn't just make one Horcrux," said Ron. "He didn't split his soul just once."

"He split it seven times," Harry said, and Merlin's and Arthur's eyes widened in horror. "How many people would you have to murder to split your soul that many times? And what kind of person would..." He trailed off, his expression distant.

There was a tense, solemn silence while each of the five young people sat, contemplating their own thoughts, or fighting their inner battles. Finally, Merlin broke the silence, his voice grave and with no trace of his humor from earlier in his tone. "So we are looking for  _seven_  of these Horcruxes, then?"

"Five, actually," Harry corrected. "I destroyed one, although I didn't know it at the time, when I was twelve, in the Chamber of Secrets – long story," he said, as Arthur and Merlin looked at him curiously.

"Seriously, mate," Ron backed his friend up. "You could write a whole  _book_  about all that happened that year."

"Who would want to write about that?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"You'd be surprised," Hermione said wisely.

"Anyway," Harry said as he tried to steer the conversation back on course, "I destroyed that one. And Professor Dumbledore . . . well, he destroyed another."

"Do you know what they are?" Merlin asked hopefully. "Any ideas where to start?"

"We know what and where one is," Harry answered, "but we don't know for sure. All we  _do_ know is that in order for us to kill him, we have to get rid of all of his Horcruxes. Otherwise, we will fail. By creating seven Horcruxes – something that no one has ever done before – he has basically made himself immortal."

"Well," Merlin said, trying to remain positive despite the seeming impossibility of the situation, "at least we have  _something_  to go by. Where is this first Horcrux?"

"It's going to be difficult to get to, seeing as it has fallen into the hands of one of the worst people possible," Hermione said glumly. "Her name is Dolores Umbridge, and it's going to be hell trying to get it back from her."

"Great," Arthur said sarcastically, flashing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I can't wait."

* * *

Later that night, Merlin was lying on top of the blankets of his bed in one of the guest bedrooms. It was on the second floor, it was dingy, dark, and depressing, and it reminded Merlin of a darker, danker, and slightly larger version of his own room in Camelot. The young warlock's mind was spinning frantically as he tried to make some semblance of sense out of everything that he had heard today.

It wasn't the sheer difficulty – borderline impossibility – of the task ahead that bothered him. It wasn't the fact that he was hundreds of years out of time, and so far from his home. It wasn't the prospect of meeting Voldemort again, something he'd hoped he'd never have to do again, and thought about every time he saw the scar on his chest.

It was the Horcruxes.

The idea made Merlin physically sick to his stomach. The soul was  _the_  most important part of a person. It was who they were, what they had been, and what they would always be. It was a person's past, present, and future. It was everything they liked, everything they hated, and everything that made them who they were. It was their life, even more important than their physical body. Merlin truly believed that the soul was the absolute _essence_  of a being, and that a soul's entirety was what made it human.

To split a soul was unthinkable to the sorcerer. It was, in Merlin's eyes, worse than dying. It was taking everything that mattered and turning it into scraps of nothing. It was taking the greatest, most revered magic in existence – essentially, the magic  _of_  existence – and reducing it to ashes. Nothing good could come of splitting a soul, only pure evil. And the manner in which a person would make Horcruxes . . .

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on his emotions. His eyes stung, but he tried his best to ignore the sensation. He had killed people, yes, but he had only killed in order to protect himself and the people he cared about. Even though the people whose lives he had taken were evil, and he had only killed them out of necessity, Merlin still remembered every person that he had ever killed. Sometimes, he would wake up at night in a cold sweat, the faces of those he'd killed spinning in his mind. He would block them out, try not to think about the grieving mother pretending to be Lady Helen, or Sophia and her father, or . . .

Merlin tried to stop this train of thought, but the guilt was eating at him anew. He couldn't understand the all-consuming evil that would have to be in a person's heart in order for them to  _willingly_  murder people in order to ensure their own immortality. The idea sickened him.

For a split second, Merlin found himself wishing that he hadn't let Neville into his dream. He wished that he was back in Camelot, doing Arthur's laundry, shining his armor – he would even take being Arthur's punching bag on the training field to this! As powerful as Merlin was, and as powerful as he knew he was destined to become, the thought of facing, once again, this man with a heart so corrupted with vile, demonic hatred and darkness that he would kill countless innocents to stay alive sent a spike of fear through his heart that nearly stopped it. He took a deep breath, told himself to grow up, and rolled over onto his side, trying to think of other things.

It didn't work, and he ended up falling asleep to the laments of the long dead, their ghastly faces leering at him from beyond their graves for the entire night.

* * *

Arthur didn't fare much better.

He sat on the edge of his bed in his own guest chamber, looking around the gloomy place in the flickering light from the magically burning wall sconces around him. The bed was creaky, and the mattress soft, although nowhere nearly as comfortable as Arthur's own at home. The walls were cracked, and the dark grey wallpaper was peeling. A small desk littered with moth-eaten papers and a few dusty books was in one corner. A dresser was in the other. There was nothing else in the room.

Arthur thought about going down the hall and finding Merlin. He wondered if his servant was still awake, or if he was being haunted by the dark prospect of their quest as well. He knew what a sensitive person Merlin was, and had a feeling that the idea of a Horcrux, as horrifying as it was to Arthur, would affect the wizard even more than it did the prince. He remembered Merlin's reaction so many years ago when the prince killed the unicorn, and how Merlin abhorred the unnecessary taking of life, although Arthur knew for a fact that Merlin had killed some people too, out of defense.

Arthur was a little more accustomed to death than his servant was, or at least to being on the triumphant side of the sword. He had killed in combat, in battles, and, yes, even in challenges by other knights. He still remembered the young man who had challenged him to a fight, and whom he had killed, and whose father sent an assassin after Arthur in revenge. That boy's face haunted him now, and Arthur couldn't help but think about all the lives he'd taken in battle without a second thought. It wasn't that he regretted it; no, if it meant protecting Camelot and the people he cared about, he would do the same in a heartbeat. It was his duty as a prince, as a son, as a friend, as a knight, as a comrade, and as a master.

Like Merlin, though, he could barely comprehend the idea of killing someone to make yourself stronger. He knew that Lord Voldemort was a monster from the time that Arthur had seen him in Camelot (although, admittedly, he hadn't done much in that confrontation, considering that he had been the only one without magic in the fight), but this was almost unbelievable.

Arthur stood up and moved to the door. His hand had already grasped the handle before he changed his mind. He would go to Merlin under the pretense of making sure his cowardly, idiotic servant wasn't scared of the dark in this new place, but he would actually be going because he himself didn't want to be alone in this old, foreign house with its dark secrets, with his own troubling thoughts. He knew Merlin, and he knew man would see right through him. Merlin wouldn't say anything, of course, but he might raise an eyebrow or smirk a little bit, even if he were just as grateful for Arthur's company as Arthur would be for his, and Arthur wasn't going to humiliate himself like that.

Arthur walked back across the room, but this time, he went to the desk instead of back to bed. Sitting down on the rickety old desk chair, the prince of Camelot shuffled through some of the papers peppering the surface, but didn't see anything of much interest, or that he could really read, due to wear on the pages and the difficult handwriting.

He pushed the handwritten papers aside and reached for the two books. He saw that one was titled  _A Detailed Look into the Life of an Inferior Being (A Study on Muggles and Why They Are Beneath Us)_  by Randalfa Cranshaw. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, recalling how Harry had told him that the people who had formerly owned the house (excluding his late godfather, Sirius) had been extremely anti-muggle. Being what wizards in this day and age deemed a "muggle" himself, Arthur took great offense to this old tome and promptly tossed it aside, not willing to so much as crack the cover.

The second book looked more promising, entitled  _The Greatest Wizards in Known History, Third Edition_  by Artemis DuLak. It had a picture of an old man on the front, and it had to be the absolute oldest man that Arthur had ever seen. He stared at the portrait of the snowy haired elder with fascination. The man's beard and hair were long, spilling past his shoulders until it disappeared at the bottom of the picture. Intense blue eyes looked at him from the wrinkled, speckled face. Arthur peered closer; something about those eyes reminded him of someone . . .

The eyes blinked. Arthur jumped back, startled, as the old man's hand rose and scratched an ear. The blue eyes looked up at Arthur, and the portrait's mouth fell open. It was like the old man in the picture was actually _looking_ at Arthur, and was, for some reason, surprised to see him. Arthur had seen a couple of moving portraits in Grimmauld Place today, but for some reason, this old man unnerved him more than the others – but that wasn't to say that the glaring, leering portraits of various members of the Black family hadn't scared the hell out of him when they shook their fists at him and muttered insults about there being a filthy muggle in their noble house.

Quickly opening the book, Arthur's eyes fell on a small inscription on the first page. It was written in clear but small writing, and it was about the picture on the front:  _Merlin_  by Chancery Terrance, 1500 A.D. One of the only reputedly accurate portraits of the great wizard, painted shortly before his voyage to Avalon

Arthur's hands were shaking slightly. Of  _course_  he'd recognized the man on the front! It was Merlin, and he was so old that he made Gaius look like a spry young man! Arthur read the note again, this time focusing on the last part. By this time, Arthur would have been dead for many years, it seemed, but he supposed that Merlin's great power was going to keep him alive longer than the average person. But according to this account, Merlin was going to die shortly after he posed for this picture. A small knot formed in Arthur's gut as he thought first about how Merlin was going to go on and continue doing great things long after his master was dead, and about how even Merlin would die someday – that is,  _if_  they didn't wind up getting themselves killed now! The truth of their mortality suddenly sprung upon the prince, and he slammed the book shut, shoving it away from him.

He stood, wiping his sweating palms on his trousers, and admonished himself for being such a child about this. He started for his bed, but turned back and grabbed the discarded book, flipping it open and finding the section labeled "Merlin, Emrys, the Man of Legend." Taking a deep breath, Arthur sat on his bed and began to read.


	10. The Ministry of Magic

It was two weeks after Merlin and Arthur's arrival.

Because of their journey to the future, Merlin and Arthur had discovered a wonder far beyond their time, something that they would most sorely miss when they went back to Camelot: the toilet. Going back to the old chamberpot was going to be one of the most unpleasant experiences they would have, and neither of them looked forward to it. Although neither one spoke to the other about this issue, it was one that was nibbling at the backs of both of their minds.

Be that as it may, the bliss of modern plumbing, it was also safe to say that they didn't love the toilet so much that they were willing to stick their feet in it, and then flush themselves down. Ron, Harry, and Hermione seemed to be just as reluctant, but Ron, whose father apparently worked for the Ministry of Magic, insisted that the main work entrance to the Ministry of Magic was a public restroom. It was quite a relief that the toilets seemed to be magical and didn't get their feet or trousers wet, but it was still uncomfortable all the same.

And when they did arrive at the ministry of magic, they weren't exactly themselves. After Merlin and Arthur's arrival and their getting settled in and adjusted at Grimmauld Place, they had immediately begun to help their friends devise a plan to get into the Ministry. They all took turns spying on the place using a possession of Harry's that Merlin had become quite enamored with - a cloak of invisibility. As it was, by the time that the actual infiltration was to take place, Merlin and Arthur both knew the trek to the Ministry by heart, knew about several people who worked there, and they were also accustomed to the sight of cars rambling by on cracked asphalt, the smell of smog and of…  _London_ … in the distance, and the sight of people walking around half naked. They were used to the shops that lined the streets, the general hubbub and chaos of the modern day Muggle world.

They were used to it, but that didn't mean they liked it.

The other three had assured them that life in the wizarding community was normally much less hectic and far more pleasant, and definitely more along the lines of what Merlin and Arthur were used to, and they found themselves wishing that they could visit Hogwarts, not as patients, nor as hidden guests of Neville Longbottom. And while the prince and the sorcerer were certainly fascinated by the future world they found themselves in, they much preferred their lives in Camelot to the noisy, busy, rude life of the Muggle world. Except for the toilets. Toilets were wonderful creations, really, and from what the others had said, they were some of the only devices used in pretty much the same way in both the wizard and the Muggle worlds.

Which brought them back to the rather questionable entrance to the Ministry of Magic, where Ron wasn't Ron, Harry wasn't Harry, and Hermione wasn't Hermione. In all technicality, Merlin wasn't really Merlin, either, and neither was Arthur, but it was in documented form only that they'd changed who they were.

Another activity that the four young wizards and the prince (Arthur would  _not_  allow anyone to call him a Muggle, no matter how true the statement was) had been involved in during their interlude at 12 Grimmauld Place was the making of a certain Polyjuice Potion. Armed with vials of the liquid, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with the help of Merlin and Arthur had manage to incapacitate or otherwise redirect their targets, while simultaneously snagging bits of their hair in the process, so that they soon became three Ministry workers instead of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. The friends had become rather dismayed when they found out that the man Ron was impersonating, Reg Cattermole, had a wife that was being interrogated for the crime of simply being a Muggle-born today, but they had decided with heavy hearts that they couldn't change their plans, even if it meant keeping poor Reg away from his wife's side while she was unjustly tried for something as ridiculous as being a Muggle-born.

After much discussion and a few arguments on the subject, it had been decided that Merlin and Arthur were not going to physically impersonate anyone at the Ministry since their faces were obviously unknown in this time period. Hermione had quickly objected, saying that if no one knew who they were, they were just as likely to be stopped, and anyway, You-Know-Who knew what they looked like, and even if he wasn't at the Ministry personally, if word got to him as word always did nowadays, they could be in just as much trouble. Arthur pointed out peevishly that there were a lot of "ifs" in her argument, and then steadfastly refused to change into someone else. Merlin agreed, saying that he had come across a couple of disillusionment spells that would probably work to cast people's attention elsewhere when they were nearby. He said that it wouldn't make them invisible or anything, but from what he'd read, it would direct people's focus away from them. Ron had said, "Like the Quidditch World Cup?" and Merlin had shrugged in confusion before adding that he would be able to, just in case, create fake pure-blood documents for both him and Arthur by slightly modifying and magically copying records from some of the old wizarding family trees and books lying around gathering dust in the Black household.

"Are you sure?" Arthur had questioned, and Merlin had nodded fervently.

"'Course," he'd replied, grinning cheekily. "How do you think Lancelot got his family seal and family records a few years ago?"

Arthur's eyes had gone wide while Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked on with interest. "That was  _you_?"

"Hey, I was just trying to help him out! It was stupid that your father wasn't going to let him be a knight just because he wasn't of nobility!"

"Wait, Sir Lancelot wasn't a noble?" Hermione had spluttered, indignant as history was once again rewritten before her very eyes.

After some explaining and consoling ("No, Hermione, everything you've ever known is  _not_ a lie. You can still rely on your schoolbooks."), and a few minutes of intense magical concentration from Merlin, and Arthur and Merlin had very realistic documentation of their pure-blooded ancestry that only the  _very_  scrutinizing gaze of a wizened, old court genealogist could reveal.

Now, after all the planning, rowing, and magical preparations, the five friends were standing just in the entrance of the Ministry of Magic, about to enter into probably the single most dangerous place for them to retrieve a dreaded Horcrux from one of the vilest witches in existence. They had faced worse together, but this still wasn't going to be easy. A trill of anticipation was in the air as they prepared themselves for what they had to do.

They were ready.

* * *

"I really hate this place," Merlin muttered as he, Arthur, and Harry tried to squeeze through the throng of Ministry workers and visitors around them. There were notices flying above their heads, official looking people tromping about all over the place, and posters about Harry being the number one enemy of the Ministry. Then there was the statue in the middle of the main lobby of wizards standing atop Muggles in a grotesque statement that "Magic Is Might."

"I thought you'd like this," Arthur said back to him. "It's all… magicky."

Merlin grunted something unintelligible as someone rammed into him for the fifth time - one of the drawbacks of not being noticed was that people tended to run into you often because they didn't see you, and then they didn't even look back to apologize because they were hardly aware that they had run into anyone. Arthur was right; normally Merlin would be thrilled to see magic used so blatantly for common, everyday tasks like delivering messages, carrying loads of paperwork, and even stirring a cup of coffee, but this place was so wrong. There was a tainted shadow looming over the entire workplace, corrupting everyone and everything in it with its oppressive force. These people were taking magic and lording it over those who didn't have it, or who people who were born to Muggles. It sickened Merlin to see magic used in such a way, and he realized that this place, in his mind, was a reverse situation of that in Camelot. The Ministry of Magic was essentially the Uther Pendragon of the future.

As if reading Merlin's thoughts, Harry, who was a tall, deep-voiced man at the moment, whispered, "This isn't the real Ministry. I mean, I'm sure that there are people who believe the rubbish that's in here now, like Umbridge, but this is not the Ministry that I've been in before. It's been corrupted by You-Know-Who. If - when - we stop him, we can put an end to this nonsense, once and for all."

Merlin nodded as he was jostled once again. "Tell me," he changed the subject as the crowd thinned out a little as the large hallway they were in branched off into several smaller corridors (they took the leftmost one), "Do you actually know where her office is?"

"Sort of," Harry said. "I've got the general idea from the directory. I'm pretty sure we're in the right wing, at least."

"Technically," Merlin pointed out, "we're in the left wing."

Harry gave the powerful wizard a strange look. Arthur smacked Merlin lightly on the back of the head. "You know what he meant," the prince chastised. "Now shut up and stop trying to be funny. Because you're not."

Merlin pouted a little in fake indignation (mostly fake, at least; his quip had been quite amusing, he thought) as they turned a corner. "I wish that Ron and Hermione hadn't gotten pulled away," he said, quickly sobered. "That one woman said that she worked for Umbridge, didn't she? Maybe the witch'll be wherever Hermione went."

"Do you think that she'll be able to handle her on her own?" Arthur asked.

Merlin smirked. "I wouldn't be surprised if she figured out where Umbridge had the locket, got it away from her, and destroyed it by the time we found her office."

Harry the Tall Deep Man chuckled while Arthur tamed a slight smile. "You're probably right. I hope Ron… er… Reg can deal with that curse in his boss's office. I don't want the poor man's wife to suffer because of it."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Arthur said, waving the worry aside. "He can handle it, I'm sure. Stopping rainstorms indoors should be commonplace for you lot, right?"

"Maybe to Merlin, Hermione, and priestesses of the Old Religion," Harry said, only half-joking. "These hexes are a little complex for most sixth-year Hogwarts drop-outs."

"Oh," said Arthur, and then stopped his current line of thought because they had come upon a door that was quite literally looking at them.

"What… is that?" Merlin asked, glancing over at Harry with a partially amused look on his face. Any trace of humor fled at the sight of the disguised Harry's jaw clenched tightly, his eyes filled with a startling combination of pain, anger, and grief. "Harry?"

"It… belonged to a friend," Harry said, his lips pressed together tightly. "A friend who gave his life trying to protect me, and they took his eye and made a mockery of him."

"That is disturbing," Arthur noted, his brow furrowed in distaste. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Dolores Umbridge," Harry seethed, glaring at the door like he was willing it to crumble into a pile of ashes.

"You think she's behind it?" asked Merlin.

"I know," he said, and then gestured to the nameplate on the door that Merlin and Arthur hadn't paid attention to before. It read: DOLORES UMBRIDGE.

"I am really not liking this woman," Merlin ground out. He glanced around to see that there was an open room filled with employees printing off some sort of flyers just a bit down the hall. "We'll take the eye, too, but right now, we need a distraction. I think some of those people might starting getting suspicious with our loitering outside of her door."

"I've got it," said Harry. He grinned tightly and pulled out some small devices from his pocket. "Decoy Detonators from Ron's brothers. This'll distract them so we can get into the room."

"Okay," said Merlin. "We'll slip in and make sure it's clear while you do that. Then you can join us."

"Be careful," Arthur added.

Harry nodded. "See you in a mo."

* * *

"No one's in here," Merlin confirmed, his eyes flashing gold as he used his magic to search for any signs of life behind the door. "Let's go."

Down the hall, they could hear the sound of confusion and chaos erupting, and they knew that Harry was using his Decoy Detonators so that no one would look their way and get suspicious. Knowing that "Public Enemy Number 1" would be following them shortly, prince and servant slipped into Dolores Umbridge's office and were immediately accosted with the color pink. And kittens. Lots and lots of kittens.

"Meow," said a particularly fluffy orange tabby from a decorative plate on the wall above the desk.

"Erm," said Arthur. There was really nothing else to say.

A couple of stunned moments followed, and then the horrified men set to work, searching the sickeningly girly office for the Horcrux. Merlin had a sinking feeling that they were on a wild goose hunt, however, and as soon as Harry joined them in the office, he told them as much.

"I know we've just started looking," he started, "but there's this… thing… that tends to happen to me when a particularly powerful magical object - good or dark - is nearby. I can sense its presence."

"Oh," said Harry, "that's handy. But we should probably make sure."

"Of course," Merlin nodded. "Just wanted to let you know that our chances of finding the locket here are probably pretty low."

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, they heard a high, simpering, utterly girly and repulsive voice tittering from the other side of the door. "Oh, thank you, William," the voice trilled. "I can't imagine what has gotten into those panicking employees. And I assure you, whoever smuggled in those silly toys will be severely punished."

Harry, Merlin, and Arthur all exchanged a panicked look. Footsteps were hastily approaching the door, and the three of them had no means of escape. "Is that her?" Arthur asked.

"Of course it is, you dollop head," Merlin hissed back, trying desperately to think of a plan. He was more worried about Harry than he and Arthur in this situation, considering no one knew who they were, and Harry was Public Enemy Number 1. A half-cocked plan began to slowly solidify in his mind as he continued sarcastically, "Who else could that voice belong to, other than the person who owns this room?"

"Make sure they get back to work, immediately. I need to stop by my office for a moment, dear, and then I will be on my way to that wand thief, Cattermole's, hearing."

"Y-yes ma'am," said a slightly tremulous voice, accompanied by hastily approaching footsteps.

Merlin used his ability to speak directly into people's minds to quickly outline the slightly reckless plan he had come up with. He could tell from their facial expressions that Harry and Arthur didn't like it one bit, but it was the only chance they had to get out of this with the least amount of mess, so they both nodded stiffly and got ready to put it in motion.

Seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a squat, frog-like woman wearing all pink and a very familiar locket around her neck. She saw her surprise guests and raised her eyebrows on her ugly face.

"Hem-hem."


End file.
